Contact
by Agent Sculder
Summary: A woman who fears the touch of men, a man who longs to be touched; together, can they find peace? Warning: ErikOther Woman pairing. If this is not your cup of tea, then I suggest you look elsewhere. Otherwise, please read and review.
1. 1

**A/N: For some reason the entire order of my story has gotten messed up, and now I have to repost almost the entire thing. I apologize to any new readers who may have been confused. I honestly do not know how this happened.**

* * *

April in Paris 1873, two years after the following the events of _The Phantom of the Opera_.

Setting: The Metropolitan Opera House, Paris

Madame Antoinette Giry looked her new charges up and down. With the exception of her daughter Meg, the corps de ballet was dreadful. There was talent there, but they lacked discipline. She knew she could fix that. At the same time, she thanked God for the terrible reviews of the Paris Opera's latest production. Without them, she and Meg would still be languishing in one of the small theaters that had become their homes over the past two years. But after reading that the ballet had been singled out as needing the most work, she had presented herself to the manager, offering her services.

Understandably, he had been hesitant. Her name was as blackened as the interior of the Opera Populaire. There were even rumors that she had somehow been involved in the tragic incident. But Monsieur Dupoix was a desperate man. Her reputation had been spotless, and the ballet at the Populaire had always been lauded as being exceptionally fine. It would be a shame for his opera house not to have the finest instructor available simply because of some idle gossip.

Today was the first day of rehearsals for Mozart's _The Magic Flute_, and afterwards Madame Giry was nearly startled out of her skin when she felt a hand tap her on the shoulder. She turned rapidly to find a young woman towering over her. She was swathed from head to foot in black, the only color on her a small white broche fastened to her throat. It was a most unusual dress for a young woman of her years.

"Madame Giry? Please allow me to apologize for frightening you. I wanted to introduce myself before you left. I am so glad that you and your daughter have come to join us."

She stood there momentarily puzzled. Who was this woman? She had to be a member of the opera chorus, for she was far too large to be a dancer. Singers rarely spoke to dancers. They usually considered them beneath them. The fact of the matter was, the singers were jealous of the dancers luck at snagging wealthy patrons. Unless one was a principle, they usually languished in the background, unnoticed. For one to extend such pleasant greetings to the ballet mistress was unheard of.

"I thank you, Mademoiselle. And who might you be?" she inquired..

"My name is Gianna Burnside. I am a member of the opera chorus. I often understudy for the lead mezzo and alto." She paused for a moment, then continued, "I was so thrilled Mr. Dupoix was willing to overlook that silly Phantom business and hire you. I've enjoyed your work at the Populaire since I was a child."

"It is rare to find a singer so interested in the ballet." Before Giry could continue, she was cut off by one of her young charges running up her, holding a note in her hands.

"Mr. Dupoix told me this was delivered this morning, and that I should give this to you once rehearsals were over." With that, she thrust the paper toward the ballet mistress, who snatched it away with a roll of her eyes, then the child dashed off toward the dormitories. Mlle. Burnside observed all this, and took this to be a good moment to excuse herself.

"Mme. Giry, I shall leave you your note. Perhaps we can talk some other time," she added with a smile. The dark figure then disappeared into the shadows of the stage, with only the sound the light footfalls of her heeled boots.

The note was affixed with a red seal. Although it was not the death's head of old, Giry did not have to open it to know who it was from. Inwardly, she was relieved to know he was not dead. But she had hoped he would leave Paris behind and make a new life for himself in a new city, in a new opera house. Sighing, she opened the letter:

_Greetings Mme. Giry,_

_I will meet you after supper in your room. There is much for us to discuss._

_Always, Erik_

She would have to find a way to keep Meg away. That should not be difficult. The child had wanted to spend sometime with the other dancers. Perhaps that was a good thing. Lately, she had caught her daughter spending far too much time holding the white mask she had recovered from the Phantom's lair, and gazing at it lovingly.

* * *

Later that evening . . .

As Giry turned her key in the lock, instinctively she knew what was waiting behind the door. And there he stood, and it was if two years had not passed. Dressed in impeccably tailored black trousers, waistcoat, a white lawn shirt and black cravat around his neck, he cut a dashing figure. On the right side of his face was a white mask, obscuring his deformity. The left side was heart breaking in its near perfection. His blue-green eyes flashed at her, and she found herself unable to look him in the face.

"Surprised to see me, Antoinette? Had you hoped I perished in the fire?" he said.

"You must be mad to even think I would wish that on you," she spat back. A moment passed, and nothing but silence rose between them. For a moment, she nearly forgot he was there. Suddenly, he spoke, "How is she Antoinette?" His black gloved hand shot out from his side and grabbed her wrist, "I must know."

Raising her head, she answered him. There was only one woman Erik would ever speak of that way. "Christine is fine. She is happy. She even writes me on occasion. But I believe it is difficult for her in her current situation to contact me as often as she would like."

"Is she in Paris?" he inquired, his eyes closed in silent contemplation.

"She and the Vicomte are at his estate in the country. She hasn't been near the city in nearly a year."

"Why? She always loved it here. Does she think so little of her old life then? Of her friends?" he questioned, his voice filled with disdain.

"Erik, Christine has a child now." She had not wanted to tell him this right away. She could have tried to lie to him; that becoming a vicomtess had changed her. But he would know if she was deceiving him. She looked him directly in the eyes, "They had a little boy. His name his Phillipe. They love him and each other far beyond what I can put into words. I beg you, leave them alone."

Giry was amazed when Erik loosened his grip, his leather clad hands falling to his side, coming to rest on the sides of his wool trousers, and looked away. Was it possible he understood? He changed the subject to something they could both be more comfortable with as she made her way over to the small vanity to take down her hair.

"The ballet needs work," he intoned flatly as he sunk into the chair she kept by her bed. She nodded in affirmation. "How long have you been watching them?"

"A little over a month."

"What do you think of the rest of them?" she inquired, frankly interested in his assessment of the opera company.

"The singing is fine. Perhaps they need to vary the repertoire a bit. There are other composers besides Mozart. But I have no complaints about chorus or the principles."

Giry turned and raised a lone eyebrow. He let out a low chuckle, "Have I shocked you, my friend?"

"To say the least."

"Dupoix is not a fool. He does not tolerate the overblown Italian divas like Carlotta. There are too many talented sopranos who are willing to work without the complications."

"Does this mean you will not be interfering?" she gazed at him questioningly, praying he would say yes.

"For now, I am content to observe. Depending on how rehearsals go, I may have to make my presence known to the management," he replied smoothly, keeping his voice low.

"Erik, is that wise? Do you not think they will come after you? They know you are human. There is still a price on your head. Dupoix might want to collect on it."

"He was there that night. He knows what I am capable of. He will be too frightened to act." He stopped as he rose slowly from the chair and continued, "Foremost, he is a good businessman. He would rather do as I say then risk me bringing this place down around his ears." Giry was struck by the fact Erik still moved like a cat, silent and quick. Sometimes his elegant movements broke her heart. He could have been a fine dancer had he been taught. All that natural grace and sensuality never to be put use because of his face. There had been nights where she had laid awake and hated Christine for what she had done to him. Erik deserved to have a woman love him. She prayed nightly that would happen soon. In the meantime, she wanted to know why he had returned after being away for close to two years.

"What have done with yourself since I last saw you?" she inquired, hoping he would not find her question overly intrusive.

"Traveling mostly. I spent some time in London and later moved on to Spain. Most recently, I have been Italy. I spent a season attending the opera at La Scala in Milan. It was a singular experience."

"Then why did you come back? This place must only hold bad memories for you."

"Not this place. The Populaire," he continued as he paced around the small room. "After she left me, I only wanted to escape, but last year I found myself longing to see Paris in the spring again. To be frank with you, Antionette, I miss my work. And I find idleness does not agree with me."

Mme Giry was about to reply, but the creak of approaching footsteps on the floorboards startled her, and before she knew it, Erik had disappeared through her closet without saying good evening.


	2. 2

"Maman, it is me. Maman, are you in there?" Giry smiled and opened the door to greet her daughter.

Meg's face was flushed and appeared to be lit from within. Clearly the girl was excited about something. Giry could only hope those silly girls didn't have her chasing after boys. She was aware Meg was prone to girlish fancies, and she worried that one day she'd get herself into serious trouble.

"Oh Maman, Claire and Marianne told me the most delicious story about that woman who talked to you today after rehearsal."

It took a second for her words to register. Meg must be referring to that tall woman, the one who said she was pleased that she was taking over. "Mlle. Burnside? What could those silly girls possibly know about her?" she quizzed her.

"She was the talk of the opera house before we arrived," she said as she flopped onto the bed and the springs groaned in protest. "Did you know she's been here since she was an infant? Her life has just been an absolute tragedy. And now she's old and doomed to be a spinster. It's almost as sad as everything Christine told me about the Phantom after she and Raoul got married."

She chided her daughter sharply, "Meg, Mlle. Burnside is probably only a few years older then yourself. It seems rather foolish for anyone to believe anyone so young will never find happiness. But I do not doubt the girl has lived a harsh life. Anyone who dresses as she does must be trying to protect herself from something," she finished with a Gallic shrug as she took a seat next to her daughter on the small bed they had to share.

Meg turned her small face and bright blue eyes up into her mother's and asked, "Do you want me to tell you what they told me?"

"I suppose I better had, or you'll never get any sleep. Tomorrow I need you at your best. You must set the example for your friends." Meg smiled, tossed her blonde head and she began the unfortunate tale of Mlle. Gianna Burnside.

It had all begun before she was even born. Her mother, Maria Bianci, had been the reigning diva at the Paris Opera for the past three seasons, and looked to have a magnificent career ahead of her. But then, Alasdair Burnside arrived in Paris that spring for his European tour. He was the oldest son of the earl of Winchester, and heir to a great fortune. The two fell headlong in love, but when Maria was found to be with child, he deserted her following a screaming match that rung throughout the rafters of the magnificent opera house. He had screamed he simply could not be sure the brat was his, despite all of Maria's protestations she came to him a complete innocent.

How could he leave her, after promising her marriage? Had he no honor? At that moment, she made a vow for all to hear, their child would bear his name and one day all of Paris would know her name. And so it came to pass, seven months later Maria safely delivered a baby girl she named Gianna. Defiantly, she would insist the surname of Burnside be given to her child. Eventually, people stopped resisting her, and the diva got her way.

The child grew up with the Paris Opera as her playground. She never lacked for company, the dancers and the singers adored the little girl with curls that refused to behave who would dance in the wings during the performances. As soon as she was old enough, her mother enrolled her in the ballet school with the hope her daughter would one day become the house's prima ballerina. For a time, it seemed Maria's vow would come all too true. Gianna displayed a grace beyond her years, and quickly advanced to the forefront of her peers. At twelve, there were already whispers she was being readied for her stage debut.

Then something no one could have foreseen happened; the child simply did not stop growing. True, her father had been tall, but her mother was a tiny slip of a woman with an outsize voice. No one ever thought the child would be taller than her. However, Gianna grew like a weed over the next year, and by fifteen she was as taller than the tallest male dancer in the company. When she danced _en pointe_ she towered over everyone. But her skill was so great that the ballet mistress placed her in the corps de ballet, always careful to relegate her to the back. Occasionally, if there was a solo role available, Gianna was given the part.

But this was not enough for her scheming mother. If Gianna could not be the star, she would have to find fame in some other way. Like most of the other dancers at the opera house, she had some vocal training. Before long, Maria had Gianna practicing for hours, instructing her not to speak to anyone lest she unduly damage her instrument. Gia possessed an impressive range, but to her mother's consternation, it was not the right range. Try as she might, her daughter simply could not reach the notes necessary to be considered a pure soprano. She was a mezzo, and could sing alto if needed. There would be few leading roles for her.

Maria was a well respected woman in the opera house, but she was crushed when the management informed her that Gia would probably never advance beyond chorus girl and understudy. She turned all of her frustration into protecting her daughter from men. Fearing her daughter would fall prey to the same trap as herself, Gianna was forbidden from seeing men, despite her being twenty years old. For the next five years Gianna toiled in the chorus, always performing ably, but after every performance she would simply slip backstage and change into one of the dresses her mother insisted she wear that covered her from her ankles to nearly the top of her neck. While others might attend the galas and masked balls, Gia spent her evenings with her mother.

During the winter, Maria fell ill and Gia, ever the devoted daughter stayed by her side, even missing a chance to take a principal role when the leading mezzo was unable to perform. After her mother passed away, it was expected that Gianna would cast off the unfashionable gowns and campaign to be elevated to principle, threatening to leave the opera for another company that would appreciate her. Instead, nothing changed. Her routine remained the same. And now at twenty-six, she couldn't possibly compete with the lovely petite ballerinas or the more visible members of the chorus for male attention. Alas, she seemed doomed to die a spinster and alone as everyone said.

As Meg wrapped up this rather melodramatic tale, Giry couldn't help but smile. Her daughter was young enough to believe every word, but she was wise enough to know some of it had to be the exaggerations of frivolous girls. Moving slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb her daughter who had recently slipped into the deep slumber of the young and innocent, she made her preparations for bed. As she reached into the closet to hang up her dress, she couldn't help but wonder if Erik had lingered and how much had he heard of the mysterious Mlle. Burnside.

Early the next morning, before rehearsals were to begin, Madame Giry literally ran into Mlle. Burnside who was dashing through the dormitories, and not paying attention to where she was going.

"Forgive me, Madame Giry! I forgot some of my sheet music in my room, and I must fetch it." The woman looked embarrassed, and she helped Mme. Giry to her feet. "I can be dreadfully clumsy sometimes."

"I'm fine, Mlle. Burnside. You shouldn't rush so, I'm sure Monsieur Reyer will wait for you." As it happened, the former conductor and director of the Opera Populaire had resumed his former position at the Paris Opera.

"I shall take your advice, Mme. Giry. However, I am not important enough to hold up his rehearsal. He will begin without me." She began to walk away, but then turned and added, "Please call me Gia. Everyone here does."

After the young woman walked away, Giry heard a light fluttering behind her. She turned toward the direction of the noise, and found Erik lurking in the shadows. His eyes followed the path Gia had taken towards her room. His focus was so concentrated, she could have sneaked up behind him if she chose to. Instead, she cleared her throat, startling him. He whirled around, his black cloak sounding like angel wings as he moved.

"Does she remind you of Christine, Erik that you stare at her so?" The moment the words slipped out of her mouth, she regretted them. Erik advanced on her, his jaw clenched, his voice dripping with barely contained fury, "No woman could EVER take her place! Certainly not some dowdy string bean with a merely pleasant voice."

"Meg tells me she has some talent. Did you not think so?"

"She does the best she can with the voice she has. It has a rather dark quality to it that I do not like. But then, no one will ever have the pure sound Christine did. It is a shame she had to stop dancing. She moves well."

"You can tell in that dress? You must have been observing her rather closely."

"I told you I have been here a month," he retorted. "Did you think I just watched rehearsals and the performances? It was easy to gain access to the chorus dormitories. Aside from that, it's hard to miss someone of her size. She doesn't lock her door either."

"Erik, have you been in her room?" she said with concern in her voice. If he was already watching her sleep, it was only a matter of time before things could get out of hand. No matter his protests to the contrary. There was something about the hunger in his eyes that frightened Giry. Erik had been alone far too long. It was not something they had ever discussed, Erik being far too embarrassed to admit it, but she knew he had to have the same urges as any normal man. She made a mental note to warn the girl when she had the chance.

"Only when she's not there. I am not completely without manners. I was surprised to discover she has quite a book collection. I took the opportunity to borrow some of them. She has a pronounced taste for gothic romance."

"Strange then she seems to eschew male company."

"Perhaps she realizes that fantasies are safer than reality," he finished bitterly. With that, he withdrew, headed toward the upper flies where he could observe the rehearsal from above.


	3. 3

The day was long and exhausting, and Giry wanted nothing more than a good meal and the comfort of her bed. She had worked with the corps de ballet all morning and into the afternoon. She had pounded her cane on the floor of the studio so often, she was sure she left the wooden floor pitted in places. After releasing the young ladies, there was additional rehearsal for any dancers with principle dancing roles in the opera. During the short breaks for meals and rest, she overheard the dancers complaining that Giry was being too hard on them. One girl was upset that in one day the boxes of her toe shoes were so worn she would have to purchase another pair. Meg had then interjected that she could not recall the last time a pair of her shoes had lasted longer than a week.

It never failed to amuse her that the dancers never seemed to be aware that rehearsals took nearly as much out of her as them. She might no longer perform the steps, but the level of concentration required for her critique the performances of all the dancers was extreme. She was often left with blinding migraines that left her nauseous and yearning for darkness. The only person she had ever told about them was Erik. His advice had been simple: cold compresses and a good night's rest.

As her thoughts turned to that damaged soul, she remembered the way his eyes had stared after Gia Burnside. Idly, she wondered wherein lay his attraction to her. She was no great beauty like Christine. She did not have Christine's angelic voice. The only thing remarkable about her seemed to be the gossip that swirled about her. She was far too old and experienced to be taken in by Erik posing as an angel of music. Or was she? From the little she knew of the woman, she gleaned that Mlle. Burnside's existence must be a lonely one. That left her terribly vulnerable. Erik was capable of using his considerable gifts of persuasion, both physical and mental to get what he desired from people. But what exactly did he want from her?

These thoughts occupied her while she ate a quiet meal of bread, cheese, and a tart apple in her and Meg's room. After putting the food away and brushing the crumbs from her skirts she decided to call on Gia. The hour was late, and she was shocked to discover when she politely knocked on the door there was no answer. After two more attempts, she slowly turned the door knob and discovered what Erik said was true; she did not lock her door. Glancing around, checking for others and finding no one about, she entered the room.

It was not as sparsely furnished as she would have imagined it. The room was filled with warm light emanating from several gas lamps. There were a few opera posters on the walls, and some pictures which were undoubtedly of Maria Bianci. There were no pictures of Gia, who did not seem to resemble her mother in the least bit. One wall was dominated by a large bookcase filled with books. One shelf appeared to be devoted to strictly academic subjects such as history, musical theory, and science. Another contained assorted great literature in French, Italian, or English. On the bottom shelf, tucked out of sight was a double row of romantic fiction. Giry smiled, several of the books looked well worn. It struck her that a collection such as this must have cost the poor girl most of her small salary over the years.

On the bed lay Gia's copy of the libretto of The Magic Flute. So, she had returned to her room, but had left for some reason. If she had been anyone else, Giry would have assumed it was to meet a lover. Glancing about for some clue as to where she could possibly be, she noticed a small package on the desk next to the bookcase. Treading as lightly as possible, she peered inside the brown wrapping. It took a moment to register, but once it did, she flew from the room. Pausing only a moment to grab a lantern, she made her way back down to the ballet practice rooms.

As she approached the room the furthest down the hall she could hear the unmistakable sound of a mixture of footfalls and counting. Occasionally, a curse in English slipped out. She approached the room stealthily, and she could also hear Gia humming and muttering assorted ballet terms under her breath. The practice room had no door, and Giry realized the girl would quickly know she was not alone. She briefly contemplated leaving her, but it was too important for her not to be told about Erik.

Gia knew she should have her eyes trained on the mirrors at the front of the room so she could watch herself. It was impossible to do when she felt like this. Her mind was filled with music and her feet had itched to dance all day. It was only once she was sure everyone was in the dormitories that she dared venture downstairs. If anyone saw her now, he would be sure to laugh. The oh-so proper Mlle. Burnside leaping around the room, arms flung out, her hair coming undone from its coiffure would make a most astonishing sight. She only allowed herself this wild, unbridled freedom three times a week. Much more and she might risk discovery. As it was, she might have to scale back. Madame Giry appeared to be the type of woman who would want to know about everything that happens in the opera house.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle. I did not mean to interrupt you, but I much desire to speak with you."

The words snapped Gia from her silent reverie. She had been about to begin a series of turns, but now her feet were rooted to the ground. In the shadows at the front of the room, she could make out the frame of a woman holding a cane. It could only be one person. She felt her cheeks immediately redden, and her hands flew to her face.

"Oh no," she pleaded, "Promise me you won't tell anyone I was here."

"I would not do that to you, my dear. I understand all too well the cruelties that gossip can create. It is an unfortunate fact of this life that there are those who would try to use something like this to hurt you."

Instinctively, Gia felt that this was a person she could trust. She had heard the rumors that the ballet mistress had been involved with the mysterious Phantom. There were even those who speculated she had been his lover. If he could trust her, she could trust her. How long had it been since she had confided in anyone?

"I will get my things, and if you like, we can speak in my room," she added after a moment had passed. She bent down to unlace her shoes, but Giry stopped her.

"It is better if we speak here. Then we can be sure no one will disturb us. In the dormitories the walls often have ears." She dare not discuss Erik where there was a high probability someone besides him would over hear their conversation. As it was, if he was listening, he would be furious with her for revealing anything of his past to Gia.

Gia finished unlacing her shoes, and then removed the lamb's wool from her toes. It was dotted with fresh blood, and she could see her big toe had split open again from the overexertion. She took a deep breath and then she let loose all the thoughts running through her mind, "Mme Giry, how did you find me down here? I have been coming here for years and no one has ever guessed I spend time here. Whatever could possibly be so urgent you would seek me out this late in the evening? I know you had a long day today with the dancers. You must be exhausted. I am just a silly chorus girl who foolishly clings to her childhood dream. I am of no consequence to you. If you object to my coming here, I shall have to find somewhere else to dance."

"I must beg your forgiveness, my child. I was so anxious to speak with you that when you did not answer the door, I went inside to see if I could find some clue as to where you were. It was only until I saw the bundle of lamb's wool on your desk that I realized you had to be down here. I would not have invaded your privacy had I not felt it necessary." At this point, Giry ceased speaking and made her way over to Gia. In the low light of the room, it had been nearly impossible to see what she had been doing. Upon a closer inspection she could see the girl had obviously been working hard. Her face was flushed, her chest was damp, and slow rivulets of sweat were dripping from her forehead. Her leotard was worn and her shoes were practically falling apart. It was a minor miracle she could even stay on her toes with them.

Under the critical gaze of the ballet mistress, Gia visibly flinched. She knew she must look ridiculous standing there, her feet blistering on the floor, her slippers dangling from her right hand. She wanted out of that room. Already the air felt heavier and the heat was unbearable. "Please tell me what you came to tell me. If I'm going to clean myself up I need to get back to my room so I can request some hot water," her exasperation evident in her tone of voice. Giry knew this was not the time to beat around the bush, "What do you know of the Phantom of the Opera?"

Gia was taken slightly aback. This was what she wanted to talk about! In her exhaustion, she could not help the chuckle that escaped her lips. "No more than anyone else, I imagine. He was a madman living in the cellars of the Opera Populaire, and he extorted a fortune out of the managers over the years. Two years ago he used his influence to promote Christine Daae, and elevate her out of the corps de ballet. The rumor was that she was his lover. He even wrote an opera for her, which he insisted be performed. On the night of the performance he took the tenor's place, and after he pledged his love to Miss Daae, she unmasked him before the crowd. He became unhinged, cut down the chandelier, and escaped with Miss Daae, but the opera house was destroyed. Somehow she escaped him, and although no body was ever recovered it is believed he perished. Miss Daae married the Vicomte de Chagny and lived happily ever after," she concluded. "It's a nice fairy story."

"Mademoiselle, I regret to inform you, essentially that is all true. The Phantom is real. And he has returned."

"Is that so Mme. Giry?" she added cynically. "I seem to also recall hearing that you were mixed up in the incident as well. There were rumors you were his paramour in order to protect your daughter from him. Or perhaps that was the reason why you allowed him to seduce one of your charges?" Gia's expression hardened, her icy blue eyes glazing over her tone shifting away from congenial to cold and aloof.

"I did not allow him to do anything. He takes what he wants, and that is why I came here."

"You do not deny that you were involved with him, then?" the chorus girl continued.

"In the way you implied? No. But I will not deny knowing him. As well as anyone could know him." At this, Giry looked carefully at the young women in front of her. She was clearly suspicious of her, and with good reason. Perhaps that would ultimately spare her and keep her safe from Erik. "All you need to know is that he has taken up residence in this opera house. Where he has been or what he has been doing for the past two years, I know not. He seems to have a particular interest in you. He told me he has been in your room. You should have a greater care for your safety. I only tell you this as a friendly warning, one woman to another."

Gia suddenly found she was unable to speak. He had been in her room? Had that monster seen her undress? How could she not have been aware of such an intrusion? The silence was broken by the sound of her toe slippers falling from her fingers and landing on the hardwood floor with a clatter. Gia bent down to pick them up and found the ballet mistress had quietly exited the practice room, leaving her alone with only her thoughts to keep her company.


	4. 4

Erik watched as the obviously shaken woman fled from the practice room toward the dormitories from his position in the wings. In the relative silence he had been able to overhear most of their conversation. It was unfortunate he had not discovered this secret of hers before Madame Giry. He had been hoping to find something that he could use to blackmail her with, which was the reason why he had been following her closely over the past few days. He had thought it would be a simple matter, but as it had turned out, the singer led a singularly boring existence. While she was friendly with entire opera staff, she did not appear to be close to anyone. She had no gentlemen callers, and she did not venture out of the opera house unless it was necessary.

Once he determined where she slept, he was delighted to find her door was unlocked, although that would not have stopped him as he could pick most locks. Her book collection surprised him. But even that did not prove to help his cause. He had looked through every volume and not one of them could really be considered objectionable. The romances were not to his taste, but it was hardly a crime to possess them. It just seemed odd that a woman with a well worn copy of Shakespeare's collected works would read such dreck.

Since arriving a month ago, he had been painstakingly establishing himself in the lower cellars. It had taken a good two weeks to get all he needed installed, and that had only been accomplished by outrageously over paying some desperate wretches he found on the street to assist him. In the past, he would have promised to pay them well, then dispose of them after they had served their purpose. But he had found in the months following the disaster, his taste for blood had diminished greatly. What he wanted was to make this place his as much as the Opera Populaire had been, and to do that he had to know everything possible about the building. To accomplish that, he needed to find someone who would know this place the way he had known the Populaire.

It had been a stroke of good fortune when he heard those silly gossiping ballet rats, Marianne and Claire discussing Mlle. Burnside while he was observing a rehearsal. The one tidbit that had stuck in his mind was that she had lived in the opera house her entire life. Even he had lived somewhere before Mme. Giry had helped him escape from the gypsy caravan. If this place had indeed been her playground, he had no doubt that she was the person he was seeking.

Had that information not passed the chits' lips he wouldn't have paid the woman any attention. Her voice was good, and she was underutilized, but he would give Reyer some time to discover that. Aside from the fact she was one of the few women he had ever seen who could nearly look him directly in the eyes, she looked to be quite plain. However, as he thought on it, he had never really seen her up close. Her hair was quite an interesting shade. The closest thing he could liken it to was bronze. It was too red to be called brown, and too brown to be red; and yet it wasn't dark enough to be auburn.

It was almost as if she was trying not to exist. She always lurked in the back, in the shadows. And her clothes! Nothing but shapeless black dresses day after day that obscured anything remotely feminine about her. This was the first time he had ever seen any part of her body other than her face. Erik was very pleased that Giry has said little to the girl about himself. Now was the time for him to confront her, while her fear of him was at its apex. Under the cover of darkness, a sly smile spread across his lips. With a swirl of his cape, he eased out of his hiding place in order to pay a call on the woman who would help him bring this opera house and its masters to their knees.

She ran all the way from the practice room to her bedroom, not caring that in the process she left a trail of blood behind her. She was desperate to return the familiar surroundings of her room. Her room had always been her haven from the rest of the world, and to learn it had been invaded by someone uninvited shook her to the core. Her mother had never locked their door for a reason. She believed that as long as they behaved that they had nothing to hide, no one would ever seek to rummage through their things. Up until now, those words had seemed wise. God, who knew how many people had taken advantage of her foolishness!

For the first time, Gia found herself questioning her mother's beliefs. But she had been right about the Phantom. When Gia had laughed at the stories about his activities at the Opera Populaire, Mama had warned her that where there was smoke, there was bound to be fire. Gia could still recall the way her mother had lorded it over her when the opera house was nearly destroyed following the debut of Don Juan Triumphant. The Phantom was indeed real, but was not the specter so many had supposed him to be. He was a flesh and blood man, obsessed with a young girl whose rejection brought on his final madness.

And now he was here. Spying on her and lurking in the dark corners that pervaded the opera house. Gia knew all too well how easy it was to hide there. She had always beat everyone at Hide-and-Seek with her superior knowledge of the ins and outs of the corridors. Sitting on her bed, her faded rose throw clutched to her chest, she racked her brain trying to recall every story she had ever heard about the Phantom. Where could he be living, if he had indeed made this place his home? There was barely room in the dormitories to contain the company. Although she was no longer dancing, sweat continued to pool inside her leotard causing it to stick to her skin uncomfortably. Dare she change, knowing he could be nearby?

"You stupid girl!" she spoke aloud, in English, aware that few could understand it. She was no coward, and she wasn't about to allow a madman to dictate anything to her. The only place he could possibly hide in the small room was her wardrobe, and a quick peek in there showed no sign of him. To be sure she was alone, she looked under her bed, then threw the lock on the door. Behind the screen next to her bed, she slipped off her dancing clothes and put on her prim white nightgown. At the throat it tied with a pink ribbon, her one concession to femininity, but like her gowns, the only skin exposed was her face, hands, and feet.

It was too late to call one of the boys for some hot water, so she would have to sponge off using the room temperature water in the pitcher behind the screen. She poured it carefully into the basin, then she wiggled her arms out of nightgown so she could grab her sponge and wash, her form safely covered. Mama said only loose women washed uncovered. It would have been easier to divest herself completely, but this was the way she had cleaned up since she had left her childhood behind. She inhaled the comforting scent of lavender from her treasured cake of soap one last time, then redressed. She disposed of the dirty water at her small window and snuggled underneath the bed clothes. What she needed most was sleep. In the morning she would be able to think clearer and make sense of all that was happening.

As she was about to close her eyes, Gia became aware of the fact she had left all the lamps in her room still burning. It wouldn't do to waste the oil which was dreadfully expensive. Maybe she should leave one on, just for tonight as a safety measure. Madame Giry had told her to have a care. Glancing at her night table she saw her mother's onyx and ivory rosary beads. Prayer would settle her agitated and whirling mind. She knelt beside her bed and began the familiar Aves and Lord's Prayer, the beads moving silently through her fingers, and her mouth barely moving to form the ancient words. Try as she might to meditate on the mysteries, her mind continued to wonder onto the subject of the Phantom. Finding it fruitless to continue, Gia returned the beads onto the table and climbed back into bed. Her last conscious thoughts before sleep claimed her were mother's words of warning, "Fear what lurks in the darkness my child. Be on your guard always, or one night it will come and claim you for its own."

On the other side of the door, Erik mulled his options over. He could either pick the lock or enter her room through the old wardrobe. After he had chosen Mlle. Burnside as his mark, he taken one day while she was at rehearsal to remove the back panel of her wardrobe and rig it to open nearly silently. From his previous visits, he had learned that its position in the room connected to one of the smaller side stairwells. While picking the lock would be faster, there was the chance it would wake her. He did not doubt that in her current state, she would scream, something that would be less than productive. He wanted to frighten her, but only enough that she would do his bidding without question. Long ago he had once thought fear could turn to love, but his recent experience had proved otherwise. He had to be more careful this time. At least with this one, his heart would be safe.

The lone lamp made it easy for him to navigate the small room. "She must be afraid," he nearly murmured aloud. From his observations, she seemed a most practical soul, and this would be an extravagance. Without thinking, he drew a few coins from his pocket and placed them on her vanity as quietly as possible. His eyes were accustomed to the dark, and despite the dim light, he could see her figure plainly in the bed. She was so long limbed that her feet hung off the end of the bed. She lay on her front, her face turned to the side, her hair spilling down her back. Her breaths came heavily and short. He knew all too well from experience, her dreams could not be pleasant ones.

His thoughts turned briefly to the only other woman he's ever seen asleep before. How different Christine had been. Lying in his magnificent swan bed, the crimson coverlets surrounding her, she had barely moved. Her soft chestnut tresses in such contrast to the whiteness of her skin, he had physically ached to look at her. He had only withdrawn from her because he knew if he had lingered much longer, he would have been unable to contain himself. His body had screamed for release, and it was only once he was a safe distance away did he stroke himself into swift, empty fulfillment.

At the approach to the bed, the woman flipped onto her back, and a low moan escaped her lips. "Perhaps, my dear, I misjudged you. Your dreams do not seem so unpleasant after all," he drawled softly, his words melting into the velvet darkness.


	5. 5

**Author's Note: I have rated this story R in anticipation of upcoming chapters, in case anyone is wondering. I hope you are enjoying my little story so far!**

* * *

In one fluid motion, Erik clamped his gloved hand over the mouth of the restful woman. Her eyes opened, wide and unfocused, straining to see her attacker in the low light. He could feel her trying to struggle to scream. Seeing her at such a small distance for the first time, he took note of her large stormy grey-blue eyes and fair rosy skin. She was prettier than he had initially thought. He had assumed the reason why she avoided men was because she was unpleasant to look at. She was no raving beauty, but her skin was smooth and even in tone, and her features were even and regular.

Remembering his purpose, he spoke to her, his voice low and menacing so she would have no doubt of his sincerity, "Stop struggling! I have no wish to harm you, but if you do not cease, I will wring your neck from your shoulders!" She immediately froze, and he continued, "I will release my hand from your mouth, but only if you promise me not to scream." She gave him a barely perceptible nod, and as he drew his hand away he could see her lips were trembling. For a moment, he thought she was going to scream, but he was pleased that she quickly stopped shaking and drew her mouth into a grim line. Still, she did not speak, and he was almost disconcerted by her outward calm.

"You know who I am, don't you?" When she made no reply, he hissed into her ear, "Answer me!"

"Y-y-yes. You are the Phantom. Madame Giry spoke to me of you," her voice barely above a whisper.

"That I am. I have been watching you my dear, and I believe you will suit my purposes quite nicely," he languidly purred, reveling at the fact she could be so intimidated by his physical presence. It had been far too long since he had this effect on anyone. During his travels he had kept to himself, knowing extended contact with the world would only being questions he did not want to answer.

"What do you want of me, sir?" she barely choked out. His eyes were boring into her, and she could feel his lips against her ear. God, those eyes! They burned like a turquoise fire. She dare not turn to face him. Partly out of fear at what he looked like, but also because she knew those eyes would hypnotize her, and steal her thoughts.

At her response, he withdrew slightly, giving her a bit more breathing room. "I am pleased you seem so willing to obey me. You do not even ask why I chose you or for what. It is a good trait in a woman."

Relieved he was no longer so close, she sat upright in the bed, turned and bowed her head. "I am yours to command, sir. I can only assume that you have been watching me and learned of my secret shame. I will do as you ask, as long as it does not jeopardize my place in the opera company. Without this place, I am nothing, and would be lost in the world."

"It is all to the good you understand your limitations. What I want from you is to learn all you know of this opera house. In the evenings, following your rehearsals, I shall come to you in this room and you shall be my guide. In exchange, I will not reveal your extra-curricular activities to the manager or any of the members of the company." To drive his point home, he strode forward and tipped her chin up so she was forced to look at him, "And if you dare betray me, my dear Gianna, you shall find your existence will become one of utmost misery. You know of what I am capable. If you have any doubts, ask Mme. Giry."

Gia's eyes began to fill with tears, but she fought them back, unwilling to completely dissolve before this man. If he would stop touching her, she would be fine. The contact of his soft leather glove on her face was driving her mad. He must stop touching her! She jerked herself away from him, nearly propelling herself out of her bed. "Please sir, I will do all you say. Just please, do not touch me."

At this, he raised his visible eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. Reaching across the bed, he wrapped his left hand in her wild mane and pulled her toward him, only stopping when their mouths were separated by the barest of margins, "You will find, my dear, I will do and take what I want."

With that, he released her, and she watched as he opened her wardrobe and disappeared through it into the darkness leaving her alone and unable to sleep.

Gia silently offered up a prayer of thanks to God that the Phantom had left her. She could still feel his leather encased hand in her hair and on her face. She cursed her body's treacherous reactions to his touch. Those feelings were supposed to have been buried years ago, and yet she had found herself yearning for more, even as she had implored him to stop. His touch should have revolted her, but for a moment she had wanted him to crush his lips against hers, knowing it could have meant her undoing.

She had been prepared for the Phantom to have a hideous and frightening visage, instead his face was that of a fallen angel. Logically, Gianna knew he would not wear the mask if his right side matched his left. But her mind struggled to believe it could be as terrible as she had heard. As it was, the stories of him having skin like yellowed parchment appeared to be untrue, she thought wryly. It had been nearly as pale as her own, gleaming softly in the glow of the lamp. His lips had been full and lush, and his jaw-line intensely masculine. His dark hair had been carefully slicked back, not a hair out of place, very unlike her own which she struggled to control with pins each day.

The white mask on his face was fascinating. What was it made of, she wondered. Was it cold on his face? What did it conceal from the world? His voice had been just as captivating, but lower than she had expected, considering he had once exchanged places with a tenor. He certainly knew how to use it effectively. It had been simultaneously threatening and unexpectedly arousing. It had been ten years since she had felt anything like that toward a member of the opposite sex.

Lying back down, she exhaled slowly, collecting her thoughts. Relief washed over her like a warm bath knowing that all he really wanted from her was to know about the opera house. She would do her best to please him, and leave nothing out. She would just have to be careful to maintain a good distance between them during their lessons. Gianna Burnside knew all too well where heedless passion could lead, and not simply because of the circumstances of her birth. This Phantom might be accustomed to having all that he desired, but he would discover how stubborn the daughter of an opera diva could be when put into a difficult situation. Certain he was gone, she extinguished the lamp and closing her eyes, she drifted back into a dreamless sleep.


	6. 6

**Author's Note: Thank you so much to those who have taken the time to write me a review. Please keep them coming. It should also be noted that in this chapter I make allusions to Mozart's final Opera The Magic Flute. I have taken some artistic license in casting Gia as Papagena as the role would normally be sung by a soprano, and not a mezzo.  
**  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following day passed in a whirlwind for Gia. Rehearsals were in full swing, and between having to learn her assigned part as one of the ladies in waiting to the Queen of Night, she was understudying the role of Papagena. It was certainly not as crucial a part as the Queen of Night which she did not have the voice for, but it was still a principal role. As a result, she had extra costume fittings which she loathed since Madame Beaulieu, the costume mistress, forever chided her about the width of her hips. If by chance she was called on, the costume would have to be radically altered to fit her larger frame. Not for the first time she wished she could have been more like her mother, who had been so petite Gia could nearly span her waist with her hands when she had been corseted. In all the rush of activity, she had nearly forgotten who awaited her that evening.

She instinctively knew that the Phantom would be most displeased if she altered her routine in any way that would draw attention to herself. She behaved as though nothing had changed, that no mysterious gentleman had ever impressed himself upon her. After a light meal at a café close to the opera house, she made her way back to her room, unsure of what would be awaiting her.

When Gia swung the door open, she found the Phantom sitting in her bedside chair, with her copy of _Les Misérables_ in his grip. She had expected he would at least look up at her entrance, but his only movement was to casually turn the page.

"Are you enjoying it, then?" she queried, distain fairly dripping off her tongue. "Perhaps you would like to borrow it."

"I have read it before this. I was merely amusing myself until you arrived." On that note, he stood and carefully returned the book to its place on the second shelf. "You have a most impressive collection for a chorus girl. Can you actually read all of these?" he sneered, gesturing toward the titles in Italian and English.

Incredulous at his insult, she shot back at him, "I will have you know, sir, I can curse expertly in at least four languages. Would you care for a demonstration?"

Erik let out a low chuckle. It would seem this young woman was not the meek creature he had thought following their initial encounter. She was trying to keep her emotions in check, and failing rather spectacularly. Already her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and her hands were shaking by her sides. She was furious, but too well bred to display her temper openly. "And what languages would that be, my dear?" he deliberately mocked, interested in her reaction.

"French, Italian, English, and German," she paused a moment, then added, "I can also read Latin, but alas, my knowledge of cursing in that language is most limited."

"It would seem you are a scholar, mademoiselle. Whatever are you still doing here?"

Gia was slightly taken aback by this. Was he actually praising her? It was the first vaguely civilized thing he'd said to her since she had made his acquaintance. Finding her voice, she returned simply, "Hardly. Mama insisted I learn English in the hope one day my father would come here to see me and I could speak to him in his own language. Since I rarely have anyone to speak with, I read instead. I learned German from all those operas by Wagner and Mozart. It was not overly difficult."

"Still, you seem to possess an intelligence greater than that of your peers. That is most fortuitous." He made a short, mocking bow and gestured toward the wardrobe, "After you."

"I would prefer to follow you, since I cannot be sure exactly where we are going. Besides, I do not know how to open the panel." Gia hoped she was able to put into her voice a firmness that would disguise her fear. He would follow closely, almost hovering, and it would be a distraction. If she could assert some control on their uneasy relationship, perhaps he could come to respect her and her limits. He said nothing, but slid past her, opened the old wardrobe doors, and a moment later she could hear him stepping into the stairwell on the other side. Gathering her skirts, she stepped through the doors and entered the Phantom's world.

Waiting on the landing, Erik extended his free hand to assist Mlle. Burnside but found she pointedly ignored it and stepped down unassisted. In his other hand, he clutched a lantern as the passage contained no lighting of it's own at this time of day. He gave her a moment to get her bearings, and then asked, "Do you know where we are and where this leads?"

He watched her face intently, and she knit her brows together, her face becoming quite pensive. "I believe so. If we were to take these stairs up we should get access to the roof. This staircase will take you to the near the flies. From there, it is easy to get to the stage." He had asked her this as a test, if she lied to him here, he would have no choice but to expose her to ridicule as punishment. However she had answered honestly and to the point his question. He wondered if she would continue to be as helpful when it came to the opera staff.

Erik had deliberately allowed her to think that his only interest in her was to learn the complicated geography of the old building. Just as valuable would be her insights into the main players and the manager. He had no doubts she knew all the gossip that flew about this place, even if she behaved as though she were above it all. Information was the key to his return to prominence. He must know who would be the most vulnerable to his suggestions and what he could threaten them with in order to get their attention. Strange then, this proud young woman, whose life was so dull and colorless had within her brain the ability to cause so much chaos. And all because her greatest fear was that in her spare time she still enjoyed dancing.

"That is correct," he returned in response to her answer.

"So you were testing me, then?" she added, displeased that he did not trust her. She had done nothing to make him think she would ever disobey him. Clearly, he was not aware of the depth of her fear of the world outside the opera house. If he was, he would have known there was no danger of her betraying him. Gia, being a clever woman also realized that she must do her best to conceal this fear from him if at all possible because he would be sure to exploit it.

"It would have been foolish for me not to. I needed to know if you would, in fact, be of any use to me. I know you have lived in this place your entire life, but I could not be sure how well you know it," he concluded with a mysterious half smile.

"When I was small, I used to make Mama crazy by disappearing for hours at a time. Sometimes I would just go into the attics where the old props and costumes are stored with my books to read and get away from all the insanity. But once I began ballet training, I was able to get away less and less. I miss that. That feeling there was no one alive in this place but me," she said as she lowered her eyes toward the floor, clasping her hands tightly. Seeing this, Erik's eyes softened slightly. This woman seemed to long for the very thing he despised society for. It had decreed that men like him must hide and not show their face in the midday sun, and here she was perfectly content with a life filled with nothing but loneliness, her books, and her work. At her age it was unnatural. He stifled the desire to grab her and tell her just what it was like to live a life alone in an opera house. Instead he nodded in acknowledgement and began to make his way down the staircase.

Soon they came to the top of the flies and the main staircase that led backstage and to the ballet rehearsal rooms. Walking ahead, Erik moved swiftly and noiselessly and soon they were in the deserted corridor near the dressing rooms that some of the members of the opera company would use for trysts. Gia had made it a point to avoid this area for nearly ten years, and felt uneasy as old, painful memories assaulted her senses. Suddenly, the Phantom stopped and drew from his cape a black domino mask. However, there were no eyeholes so the wearer would be completely blind. The simple command came, "Put this on," and she did not hesitate.

It slipped on easily, and she immediately threw her arms out, grasping at the air so she could find something to hold on to only to find he slipped his leather clad hand into hers. She resisted at first, trying to snatch her hand away, but his grip was far too strong. No doubt from years of practice climbing the Opera Populaire. He gently began to tug her, and since she could not see, she would have to force herself to rely on him. Her palm was sweaty, and she flushed, hoping he would not notice. To end the uncomfortable silence she spoke, her voice slightly tremulous, "Where are you taking me sir that you do not want me to see?"

"To where I live. There we can speak without fear of anyone taking notice of us. Perhaps in time the mask will no longer be necessary between us."

"I thought you wanted me to show you around the opera house. It would seem you know this place well enough without my assistance."

"Perhaps I want something more from you than just a tour," he purred, choosing his words carefully knowing the impact they would have. As expected, she turned away from him in an attempt at escape. "Calm yourself, woman! You allow your imagination to run wild. I have no debauchery in mind." The words seemed to soothe her, and they resumed their journey down into the bowels of the opera.

No longer did their steps resound against squealing wooden floorboards, but instead echoed through the stone caverns Gia was aware lay beneath the building. The decent was steady and she was thankful the ground was fairly even, for she shuddered to think what could happen if she lost her footing with only him to break her fall. She silently berated herself for getting into this position. She had taken a vow never to be at the mercy of a man, and here she was, one misstep away from falling into the grasp of a dangerous one. With her eyes unavailable to her, Gia pricked up her ears memorizing the sounds of where they were going. Unfortunately, the only sound came from her footsteps and the sound of their combined breathing. If she hadn't been so nervous she could have counted the steps so that she might retrace the trek on her own.

In the distance, she could hear the faint sound of water dripping and she wondered if the Phantom expected her to swim in her dress. Quickly she realized he must have a boat of some sort since he had always appeared to her dry and neatly attired. The sound of water grew louder and soon they stopped and he let go of her clammy hand. Gia heard a couple of thunks, and then his voice, "You need to take two steps forward so I can assist you into the boat."

"I wouldn't need your help if I could take this damn mask off!" she said shortly, with more than a trace of exasperation in her voice. Nevertheless, she did as he bid, and this time she did not flinch when their hands made contact.

"Raise your foot." When it scraped along the side of the boat, he bent over and urged her, "Higher, Gianna," the sound of her name rolling off his lips. This time her foot made contact with the stern and he pulled her up. Knowing she would weigh far more than Christine, Erik overcompensated and found his arms filled with the quivering Mlle. Burnside, much to his chagrin. Her body was pressed up against his and her left arm had wound itself around his neck. From afar, they looked like lovers about to share an ardent embrace. Without a word passing between them, he gently removed her arm from around his neck and helped her sit down. She sat still as a statute, her hands resting in her lap. Turning his back to her, he picked up the staff and began to punt them toward his lair.


	7. 7

As the small boat came to a halt, Gianna felt his hands at the side of her face as he drew the mask off. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust, but once they did, he was amazed at the home he had created for himself beneath the opera house. Candelabras filled with expensive bee's wax tapers were everywhere. Looming in one corner was an impressive ebony pipe organ, where sheets and sheets of music were strewn. Near that was a large desk and small set of bookshelves. Yellowed parchment drawings decorated the walls. Many were of the same woman; a woman with large doe eyes and masses of curling hair. She could only be Christine de Chagny, neé Daaé. Immediately irrational jealousy surged through her, knowing no man would ever love her as this man obviously loved her.

At the opposite end of the cavern was what appeared to be a bedroom. It was obscured by red and gold velvet draping that looked suspiciously like they once were the main curtain from an opera stage. The ceilings were at least 20 feet high and she could imagine how sound would reverberate. All in all, it was not a bad place to live; here he could work in solitude without fear of discovery. It did not look particularly cozy, but he did not seem the type to long for it. She noted that nowhere to be seen were mirrors.

Now that she had regained her sight, she refused his aid in alighting from the boat by shaking her head when he extended his hand. "I have relied on you for far too long sir. I prefer to move about on my own." She intently looked about for a place to sit, and could find none. There was a large bench before the organ that could accommodate two, but that would mean sitting next to him. He probably had more comfortable seating in his bedroom, but she steadfastly refused to go near there.

Erik sensed her dilemma and withdrew to his private quarters and returned bearing a large plush ottoman. He placed it before his desk and she sat down. He took his place behind the desk and noted that from this position he positively loomed over her. This could only be to his advantage. The way she struggled to take it all in once again brought back his treasured memories of the brunette who had stolen his heart. Her only visits to his domain and been upsetting, for both of them. Once she has passed out from the shock of seeing her likeness in the wedding gown he had designed for her, and the other, well, that was something best forgotten.

Erik casually removed his gloves and from the left hand drawer he removed a fresh piece of parchment and set it down in front of him. "Now my dear, I want you to tell me all about Monsieur Dupoix, the manager of the Metropolitan Opera," he said, while gripping a fresh quill in his right hand.

For a moment Gia was genuinely puzzled. She had expected he want to discuss more about the layout of the opera house, not those who called it their home. Mentally she kicked herself. Of course he would want to know more about Dupoix! If he intended to assert the same measure of control over this place, he would need to know more about the man responsible for the everyday prosperity of the place. To make matters worse, she had given her word to not to lie to him, something that she did not do lightly. Mama had taught her the importance of honor, and even though his intentions were most likely monstrous, she would not go back on it. She could not risk her place.

"Monsieur Dupoix is a very kind, hardworking man. He has been the only manager of this place that I have ever known. He is quite happily married, and I believe he and his wife have four children, two girls: Marie and Yvette, and two boys: Jean and Gilles. They are all grown now and no longer live at home," she concluded, hoping this would prevent him from attacking the poor man's family.

At this, Erik raised his eyebrow, in his experience opera managers were rarely so family oriented. Nearly all were diddling a chorus girl or three on the side, in fact as he recalled one manager of the Populaire had even enjoyed the company of pretty young men which had made him most amenable to Erik's suggestions. Those had been some of the most successful seasons the theater had ever had. Undeterred, he pressed her, "No affairs of any kind? That is almost too good to be true."

"As I said, he works hard. He usually arrives here early in the morning and does not leave until supper. He personally selects what works will be performed, but leaves cast selection up to the director." Here she paused, and looked up at Erik, her eyes filling with tears, "I beg you sir, do not harm him. Without him, I would have no place to go. He promised my mother I could always call this place my home just before she died."

"You do that very prettily, my dear. Is Mr. Reyer aware of your talents as an actress?" his voice cold and cruel, unmoved by her words.

At this, Gia could stand it no longer. Mr. Dupoix had been the closest thing she'd ever had to a father, and this fatherless, motherless creature dared insult her? She quickly stood up, and kicked the ottoman hard enough to send it tumbling end over end toward the organ. She then seized the pot of black ink resting on the desk and hurled it at his head. Erik ducked and it shattered, leaving a nasty black spot on the stone floor.

"You bastard, Dupoix is a better man that you will ever be! Take me back, this instant!" she yelled defiantly in the most diva-like way she could muster. When he made no move to instantly acquiesce to her request she began searching the space for something else to throw at him. Finding nothing on hand, she bent down to unlace her boot. But before she could unlace it, he had moved to the other side of the desk and grabbed her forcefully, yanking her to his broad chest, holding her arms so she could not attack him again.

"That is something, I believe, we both have in common. Or did your father secretly marry your mother before you were born?" he mocked her. Not with just his voice, but with his eyes which seemed to flicker with a green flame.

At that Gia let out an unintelligible scream, the discordant sound echoing throughout the chamber. Suddenly, his mouth came down upon hers, and she lost all powers of speech. Her mouth became stiff, and she was determined to resist him, but a small voice within her cried out to relax. Instead of ignoring it, she succumbed to the dawning pleasure she did not believe could exist between a man and a woman. The pressure of his soft, insistent mouth had her heartbeat racing.

She could feel his tongue working along the seam of her mouth, begging for entrance. Her head began to swim from lack of air, but when she opened her mouth to take a quick breath, his tongue slid into her mouth. When it made contact with her tongue, instead of shuddering with revulsion, a moan from deep within her welled up unbidden. Gia was rewarded with a moan in return from him as she brought her tongue up to meet his and they entwined, meeting briefly before she began to plunder the recesses of his mouth. As the kiss deepened, she felt her knees buckling, and all she could think about was finding a way to remove all the layers of clothing that lay between them.

His hands had been wrapped around her wrists, but now they were rooting through her hair, pulling the pins out. As her wild curls tumbled down her back, his bare hands came to rest on her back, pulling them into impossibly closer contact. An unfamiliar feeling of moistness between her thighs caused her to shift in his arms, pushing her hips forward. Gia felt as though her body was possessed by some wanton animal as she continued to kiss the Phantom, not caring she barely knew him. Her only concern was that if he let go of her now, she would collapse into a boneless heap on the floor. Once again her hips made contact with his, but this time she felt something hard and intent between them. In a moment of epiphany, she finally broke the kiss, panting and gasping for breath.

He spoke before she her brain was able to even form thoughts. "I apologize, mademoiselle. I had promised you I did not have lustful intentions toward you, but a moment ago it seemed an excellent way to prevent you from going into hysterics." He took a moment to straighten his cravat and adjust his pants and then added, "I shall return you now to your room. Go to the boat and put on the mask. I shall be there presently."

His voice was almost devoid of emotion and flat. Had he felt nothing? Gia opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words to express all she was feeling. Her practical side told her it was best if she kept her mouth shut and just go back to her room for the rest of the evening before something she would later regret could occur. Turning on one heel, she made her way to back to the small craft and slipped the mask down over her eyes. A half hour later, she found herself back in her cold bedroom, warm tears streaming down her face. However Gianna could not be sure if they were tears of relief or sadness that he had left her.

On the journey back to the cavern he called home, Erik's thoughts continued to return to what had passed between him and Mlle. Burnside that evening. He had thought a kiss would be a shock, a grave intrusion into the invisible armor she surrounded herself with, and that would quiet her. True, she had been hesitant at first, but it had been a great surprise when she melted into his embrace and allowed his tongue entrance into her mouth. Her mouth had been warm, slick, and inviting, her tongue just as curious as his to explore the space between them.

He never would have thought this tall, plain woman would be the first woman he would touch in such a manner. She had accepted him without recoiling, if anything her response had more than he could have ever hoped for. She seemed oblivious to his mask and his reputation, and for those few minutes he lost himself in her forgiving arms. She made him forget his first kiss, in a place much like this, something he thought could never occur. Once he had thought it contained such promise for the future, when it had been, in fact, Christine's way of saying good bye to him. Her mouth had been so soft and yielding, and she had even slipped her facile tongue into his mouth. He had been so stunned at her actions, he held his arms to his side instead of raising them to touch her face and hair. When the kiss ended, he looked into her soft brown eyes, and instead of finding new dawning passion, there was only tears. He was not what she wanted. She wanted to be with that hapless boy, tied to his gate. In the end, he could never refuse her anything she had ever wanted. But she had given him a taste of paradise that he thought he'd never find again.

He'd found it in the arms of another chorus girl, this one older. He had been certain he cared nothing for her, but the contact of their hot mouths had not been enough, and he raked his hands through her hair, loving the sensation of it as it came undone. Just as this woman was nearly coming apart in his arms. She allowed him to plunder her mouth, and her moan of pleasure gave him a huge feeling of satisfaction. He could feel himself hardening, and when her hips began to create an exquisite friction against his he could only think of ripping the prim dress from her body so he could see what lay beneath it. Then he would carry her to his bed and they could become one.

However, before he could so, she tore herself away, suddenly becoming the prudish spinster. Erik stared at her eyes, now nearly sapphire and her mouth full and bruised from his kisses. That mouth, slightly parted and pink would haunt him in his dreams. Confusion was all over her face, and she was clearly searching for something to say to him. Before she could say she was disgusted with him, which would be a blatant lie given how her chest was heaving, straining against the too tightly fastened corset. From the small distance between them, he could hear the whalebone creaking. Strange, while she had been in his arms, he had not noticed it.

So he apologized, and muttered some harsh words that he had only kissed her to silence her. What a pathetic lie that had been! A look of puzzlement crossed her features, and she straightened up and returned to the boat, and donned the mask once more. It took all his flimsy self control to ignore his still straining cock and not bear her to his bed instead of her own. The journey was silent as neither party felt like making conversation.

What was it about this woman that stirred him so? He had lived without having a woman for thirty-eight long years. Was it simply his body seeking its long desired release? Or was he specifically drawn to her, a woman who kept the world at an anxious arm's length? These thoughts ran riot through his head as the boat made its landing. Normally after such frustration, he would have poured the emotions into his music, but he found himself unable to compose. Finding no other alternative, he retreated to his inner sanctum behind the curtain.

He stripped off his black tails, removed his black waistcoat, and undid his tie, setting the pin carefully on an end table. Erik stared at the man who faced him in the lone mirror he now possessed. The figure before him was not an altogether unpleasant one. He tugged the lawn shirt over his head, leaving him naked to the waist. His arms and chest were strong and pleasantly muscled, the outcome of years of climbing practice. He knew harsh scars littered his back, but they were not visible. His legs were long and soared into slim hips. Before he let his vanity overtake him, he gently removed the mask from his face.

His nose on the right side spread unnaturally and his eye-lid was sunken in. All around his eye and cheekbone the skin was a livid shade of red and seemed to bubble from within. He removed the black wig and stared at the expanse of his forehead where all that grew were a few wispy strands of grey hair and the skull had a twisted shape. If she saw this, would Gia have run from him in fear? Of that he was certain. He could still hear the gasps of the crowd from when Christine had removed his mask, their fear of him had been palpable. He did this nightly to remind himself of what he truly was, the devil's own son, rejected from the moment of his birth. Unable to look any longer, he turned away and sought the comfort of his bed.


	8. 8

Gia needed someone to talk to. Having spent years avoiding relationships with nearly everyone on the opera staff, she was now in the position of having no one to confide in. However, the next afternoon, when she spied Meg Giry chatting with a couple of the other members of the corps de ballet she decided to approach her. The blonde girl always had a smile on her face and a sweet, open expression. It would be easy to talk to her. Gia took a deep breath, plastered an awkward grin on her face, and lightly tapped the young woman on the shoulder.

"Excuse me Meg, I'm not sure if you know me, but I was wondering if we might speak, in private, for a moment."

Meg turned to see who was speaking to her, and quickly responded, "Of course I know who you are! You're Gianna Burnside. There seem to be more than a few rumors about you around this place."

Gia returned stiffly, "I hope you do not believe all that you hear. There is nothing particularly interesting about my life."

"You sound like Maman! She told me nearly the same thing the other night. I thought it was all so wonderfully tragic. Just like everything Christine told me about the phantom of the opera."

At the mention of him, Gia seized upon the opportunity to shift the conversation away from herself and on to another subject. "Are you friendly with Christine Daaé, then?"

"Oh yes. We have been as close as sisters ever since she moved into the Populaire after her father died. Why, just the other day I received another letter from her. She and her husband are planning to attend the gala performance of _The Magic Flute_. It will be their first trip to Paris since the baby was born. I'm so excited about seeing her and Raoul. It's just been ages!"

This unexpected news caused Gia to lose track of her thoughts. Christine was coming back here? What would he do if he found out? More like when, she silently amended. Would she bring ruin to this place as well? She would do all she could to prevent that from happening, even if it meant delivering the vicomtess to the Phantom herself. Her trip to his underground domain had made one thing abundantly clear, his love for Christine Daaé burned as brightly as it ever had. The drawings on his wall had been a silent testament to it. He had probably even fantasized it was her lips, her tongue on his mouth instead of hers.

Why should she even care? She had not wanted his kisses. "Then why did your body nearly burst into song at the touch of his mouth and hands?" her inner voice questioned. He had made her feel alive for the first time in years, and for that she wanted to hate him. In a few moments, he had shattered the glass wall she had erected to keep the world out and now nearly all her waking moments were filled with him. She, who had prided herself on her reserve and her ability to avoid all the temptations of this place had been at the point of letting him slake his lust upon her until his arousal reminded her what a dangerous game they were playing. Damn him!

She should have never let him touch her.

These were not appropriate thoughts for her to be having in the presence of the young dancer. A scowl briefly crossed her countenance, and she finally added, "I'm sure it will be wonderful for you to see your friend. I should be going. I rudely interrupted you and your friends, please excuse me."

"But I thought you wanted to talk!" she called to the young woman who's figure was rapidly disintegrating into the backstage ether. At that moment, Madame Giry saw her daughter and her look of distress, and she immediately went to her side.

"To whom were you speaking, my child?" she said softly, her hand smoothing Meg's slightly mussed hair.

"It was the oddest thing, Maman. Mlle. Burnside was just here, and she said she wanted to talk to me alone, and then she ran off. I wonder if something is wrong with her," she said thoughtfully.

The mention of Gianna Burnside's name troubled Madame Giry. She had been reaching out to Meg only to back away. Had Erik already made his presence known to her? He had not moved this quickly with Christine. But then, the circumstances here were far different.

"Did you say anything to her Meg? Perhaps you upset her in some way?"

"I don't think so. I only mentioned the letter that Christine wrote me saying that she and Raoul would be in Paris in a couple of weeks for the opening." Meg shrugged her shoulders and then fell easily back into conversation with her peers, her encounter with Gia all but forgotten. It was far too much fun telling them all about the events of the last two years and what had gone on at the Opera Populaire the last few months it had been standing to dwell on the odd Mlle. Burnside.

Madame Giry reeled at Meg's mention of Christine and her husband, and she was visibly shaken. She was aware that Meg had received a letter just the other day, but she had not thought to ask her about the contents since usually the letters contained nothing but amusing little stories about life in the country or anecdotes about little Phillipe's adventures. Now she was confronted with two options. Giry could write to Christine and tell her that she should not come to Paris under any circumstances, but that would mean revealing that Erik was not dead. Christine would undoubtedly inform her husband, and that would bring about police involvement. She had protected Erik for years, and she was not about to jeopardize his safety. The other possibility would be to confront Mlle. Burnside and learn if she planned to tell Erik about this turn of events. The former being an unacceptable solution, Antoinette Giry chose the latter.

Hazarding a guess, she made the climb up to the chorus dormitories and found the door to Mlle. Burnside's room ajar. A light push caused the door's hinges to squeal and altered the young woman to her presence. She was sitting on her bed, her back facing the door, and at the noise she whipped her head around. Her cheeks were moist with new fallen tears, and in her hands she clutched a set of rosary beads so tightly her knuckles were white.

The sight of a figure looming in her doorway caused Gia to stop crying. It would not do to be weeping in front of others, particularly if it was him. She would not let him see her upset. It would be a victory for him, and he would take perverse joy in her sadness. As the mist of tears fell away, she realized the dark figure was Madame Giry, and she allowed herself to relax slightly. She said nothing, but walked into the room, shut the door softly and took a seat next to Gia on the bed.

"There, there child, why the tears? I rushed up here because dear Meg was concerned that something was wrong with you. It would seem she was not wrong."

Wiping the tears away, and sniffling Gia replied, "It is nothing. I was just thinking about my mother."

Giry eyed the girl closely. She was not a good liar. "Are you distressed by the news that Christine will be coming here? There is no shame in that. Heaven knows what he will do when he finds out."

"I must tell him, you know. If I do not, he will find out on his own, and that will only make matters worse."

Madame Giry sat back against the pillows. She must have spent some time with Erik to have drawn such a conclusion. This woman must be a keen observer to have made such a judgment so quickly. She carefully posed the following query, "He has come to you then?"

She nodded, "Yes. On two separate occasions. The night you caught me in the practice rooms, and then again last night. He took me to where he lives beneath the opera house."

"_Mon Dieu_!" Giry thought, but aloud she said smoothly, "I am rather amazed he would trust you so quickly. He does not do that easily."

"He made me wear a mask with no eyeholes. I saw nothing until we arrived there." At this point, Gia stopped, trying to think of what she should say next. She could not possibly reveal all that passed between her and the Phantom last night. It was not seemly, and Madame Giry would only think her a shameless hussy for throwing herself into his arms. "He wanted me to tell him about Monsieur Dupoix, but I lost my temper, so he brought me back to my room."

By the expression on her face, it was painfully obvious to Giry that something more had occurred between them. However, she was not one to pry into another's personal business. If she did not think it would upset Mlle. Burnside further, she might have chuckled at the notion of her losing her temper with Erik. Instead she inquired, "You lost your temper with him? What did you do? What was his reaction?"

Gia had been dreading this question since she had mentioned she had been with the Phantom last night. Steeling herself, she looked into Madame Giry's eyes and said, "I threw a pot of ink at him. He told me to go back to the boat and put the mask on. Then he brought me back. That is all."

Giry did not believe that for a moment. Erik would have responded in some way, but she was not about to contradict Mlle. Burnside who was determined to keep her affairs private. "Are you expecting him this evening?"

"I assume he will come again, however he did not say anything to me on the trip back. Perhaps he will leave me alone now that I have displeased him."

"I doubt that my dear. But you have done well to show him some spirit. He will not underestimate you in the future," she said with a quick smile. "Do not be surprised if he does not come to you for a few days. He may not show it, but his ego is most fragile. The phantom will sulk and pound away on that organ of his, writing music for a while. It is his way."

Gia looked up, startled, "How did you know he had an organ?"

"An assumption on my part, I assure you. He has not seen fit to take me to his lair. He had one at the Populaire. I always knew what mood he was in by the music that would occasionally drift up from the cellars. Such beautiful music it was too," said Giry, reflecting on the old days.

In the pregnant silence that followed Gia uttered one sentence. "He still loves her."

"I know, Gia, I know."

* * *

At a loss for exactly how to proceed, Giry headed for her room, and found a note waiting for her on her dressing table. It was short and curt:

_Meet me in the manager's box as soon as you receive this._

_I will be waiting,_

_Erik._

There was no question of tarrying here. Giry made her way to the box, being careful not to be observed. The theater and stage were deserted now that the day's rehearsals had drawn to a close. She had decided she would tell him nothing of Christine until she learned if he planned to pay a call on Mlle. Burnside in the near future. She had learned a hard lesson from the events two years ago; sometimes keeping one's own counsel was necessary to avert disaster. She had been torn between her desire to see Christine and Erik happy, and in the end she had chosen the girl she thought of as a daughter over the man who had become like a brother. When she had been privy to the vicomte's foolish plan to ensnare the Phantom, she had known it was hopeless and destined to end in disaster. A little piece of her had died that evening as she watched Erik pour out his soul to the girl whose heart belonged to another. And when the mask had come off to reveal all to the rapt crowd, she could only sigh knowing the rage it would bring on.

She found him hiding in the shadows at the back of the box. The only clue to his presence the white mask that nearly glowed in the darkness.

"Erik, what is it you want? What have you done to Mlle. Burnside? She will not tell me, but I have no doubt you are the cause of her upset."

He leaned back against the door to the box, and weighed what to tell the one person he would allow himself to call friend. "I am only doing what must be done so the past does not repeat itself, Antoinette," he began. "I'm sure you of all people have no desire to see that happen again. Or did you enjoy your stint as the ballet mistress of all those trifling theaters?"

"That is neither here nor there. Meg and I can fend for ourselves. Now answer my question. What have you done to her? Today she wanted to talk to my daughter, and she approached her backstage but became wary and ran off. It will only lead to more talk, you know that. This will only fuel the fires that she is a strange woman."

Erik crossed his arms, and gave Madame Giry a hard glance. "What do I care for her reputation? I need her, and I shall not be deterred because you have taken a liking to her."

"For what do you need her Erik?" she snapped. "In your bed? Have you become that desperate that you would prey on a lonely woman? You once told me you would wait until you could find someone who would accept all of you, and I foolishly believed your words."

Momentarily taken aback, Erik sputtered, "I only want her for information. What happened last night will not re-occur, I can promise you that."

So, she had been correct, something had happened between them. Although her knowledge of Mlle. Burnside was limited, it struck her that if they would only confide in each other, together they could stop running from their pasts. Christine had been a terrible mistake. Erik had fallen in love with her sweetness, and thought her fatherly affection for him could sustain a mature relationship.

"Exactly what did happen last night?" she questioned. "She would only tell me she became angry and threw an ink bottle at you. Was that a lie?"

So, she was reticent to tell anyone about last night. He wondered if it was her prudishness or embarrassment that was at work there. "Her lie was one of omission rather than commission. She was about to go into hysterics, and to shut her up I kissed her. It was nothing," he finished, his eyes trained on the empty stage rather than Madame Giry.

Giry bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying, "Not to her. And I know it couldn't have been nothing to you." Instead she asked the question that most concerned her, "Are you going to her again this evening?"

He was relieved she did not ask anything more. He did not want to tell her that the memory of her lips and the texture of her hair against his hands had kept him awake for hours. When he had slept, he dreamed of burying himself between her parted thighs, her moans soft in his ear. She had murmured, "More Erik, I want more," and raked her nails along his back, encouraging him on. God, it made his cock hard at the thought of it. Mentally, he pushed those thoughts aside, and focused on Giry.

"Yes, but first I have some business to attend to. I bid you, adieu."

It was only upon his return to his home that Erik realized he had forgotten his purpose at their short meeting. He had meant to ask Giry about how rehearsals had gone that day. He had slept uncharacteristically late and missed the morning practices. No matter, he would simply have to ask Gianna later. At his desk, he pulled out the familiar black and white stationary and began to write a note addressed to Monsieur Michel Dupoix. It was fortunate indeed he always kept an extra supply of ink on hand.


	9. 9

Michel Dupoix had only left his office for a short meeting with one of the owners of the Metropolitan opera house and returned to find a note lying on his mahogany desk addressed to him. There was no posted address to indicate where it came from or who the sender might be. The paper was bright white with black edging, and of obvious high quality. It was fixed with a simple red wax seal. If there had been more pressing correspondence to attend to, he might have tossed the letter aside, but since the meeting had gone well, he was in a jovial mood and opened the seal.

Rapidly the color drained from his pale face as he read:

_Greetings Monsieur Dupoix,_

_I am pleased to see the rehearsals of _The Magic Flute_ proceeding so well. You made an excellent decision in hiring both Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer who performed most admirably at the Opera Populaire. I shall continue to observe rehearsals regularly, and as long I am pleased, there will be no need for interference or further notes such as this one. I do, however require that you begin paying my salary immediately. It shall cost you $25,000 francs a month to avoid any unfortunate accidents._

_You may remit my salary and any notes you wish me to receive to Mademoiselle Gianna Burnside._

_I remain, your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

He set the letter down and was transported back to the night he had gone to see the premiere of _Don Juan Triumphant_ at the Opera Populaire. He had planned to take Gianna with him, but she had stayed at the opera house because her mother had been feeling poorly all day. He had been fortunate to make it out of the Populaire alive, and he thanked God Gianna had not been with him. If she had been hurt, he shuddered to think of what it would have done to her mother.

The performance had begun like any other, although the music had been most unusually passionate. A ripple of confusion had passed through the audience at the sudden substitution of one Don Juan for another, but they had settled back, and savored the fiery performance of the two leads. However, it quickly became clear that the duet was more than simply a sequence in the opera, but something far more personal. When the comely soprano had lifted the mask of the man who had begged her to save him, he had gasped along with everyone else. The next thing he knew, the chandelier was crashing to earth and he was fleeing for his life.

The headlines of _Le Monde_ had screamed the next morning with the news of the destruction of one of the premiere opera houses in Paris at the hands of the so-called Phantom of the Opera. His lair had been discovered abandoned, and it was presumed by most that he was dead or dying, languishing in the fetid sewers. Now, after nearly two years of peace, he had returned to his opera house. Dupoix was not willing to risk this place. There was always the possibility that this was a joke, a lame attempt at extortion by one of the more ambitious and greedy cast members, but the fact that the Phantom had mentioned Gianna made him think otherwise. If he had to entrust his secrets to anyone, she was the one person he would have chosen, no matter her sex.

The woman was a cipher to him, and he had known her since she had been born. Gianna was a person who kept to herself and shared counsel with no one, despite the fact she was generally well liked. He knew that she often went without so that every Christmas she could present a small trinket to each member of the staff, a tradition started by her mother when there had been more than enough money for the both of them. Although now that he thought on it, her withdrawal had truly only precipitated with the Buquet incident ten years ago. Even then, Gianna had refused to discuss the particulars of what had happened in that hallway. It had been her mother who had barged into his office wailing that her precious child had been ruined and that the stagehand was the man responsible.

He had quickly assented to her request that Buquet be fired, but was taken aback when Maria had insisted that he be given a good reference. The man had been quickly rehired at the Opera Populaire and later met a sad end, if memory served.

Twenty-five thousand francs was relatively a small price to pay to ensure the safety of this place and all those who worked and lived here. The theater was as prosperous as ever, despite the very public negative critiques of the ballet; in part, due to the fact the Populaire no longer existed to compete with them. In the morning he would contact the bank to procure the necessary notes. Only one question niggled at his thoughts, how had Gianna become involved with the man who called himself Opera Ghost?

* * *

Erik observed Dupoix's resignation to his demands from behind a bookcase by peering through a row of tomes on Greek history. Satisfied that his salary would be paid in full by the end of the week, he decided to seek out his spinster.

Now where had that thought come from?

How had one kiss and few fantasies caused him to label her 'his' so soon? That woman belonged to no one, least of all him, and did not seem to desire being wanted by anyone. He adjusted his cloak for maximum concealment and carefully made his way to the secret entrance to her room. He set the panel aside rather noisily so that she could prepare herself for his arrival, but when he confidently strode into the room, she was nowhere to be found.

A quick perusal of the wardrobe told him where she was. Her mangled ballet slippers and toe shoes had gone missing, and her worn practice outfit was absent. Furious that she had disobeyed his specific orders to be waiting for him, Erik replaced the panel and headed down the staircase that would take him to the practice rooms. This time he would not merely observe her from outside the room. He would make her pay for her insolence. She would dance for him whether she liked it or not, he thought, making a fist with his right hand. But there would be no need of violence to persuade her, her reactions to him last night made him confident of that. Physical intimidation would be easy, and a pleasure to carry out. A few stray touches, the murmur of hot words in her ear would be enough to bend her to his will.

When he arrived at the room, the surrounding halls were dark, the only light coming from a lantern that she must have placed in the center of the large mirrored room. Her back was to him, and she was stretching with her left leg on the bar. Her bare right arm was raised in a perfect arch, her fingers splayed artfully as she leaned into the leg. She repeated this move six more times, then straightened up, put both hands on the bar, and raised her leg off of it, holding it aloft for several moments, then lowering it noiselessly to the floor. Only once it made contact she grunted loudly in a most unladylike fashion. Still unaware of his presence, he watched her turn to one side, her left hand grasping the bar tightly as she bent backward. He would not have guessed that a woman of her size could make an arch that deep. Sudden thoughts of his hands on her nude back while she strained in that position beneath him surged through him.

Erik retreated from his position at the entrance, and he turned his back as she moved into the center of the room, moved the lantern to the back of the room so she would be able to move freely. He heard her footfalls and more than a few well chosen curses as she plucked off her slippers, prepared her feet, and laced up her toe shoes. This was what he wanted to see. He was frankly intrigued by the thought of this woman, past the prime of most ballet dancers still determined not forget all she had learned. Giry had told him of the agonies that dancers went through to maintain a high level of excellence knowing that one day they would have to stop because their bodies would simply no longer be capable of doing what was asked of it. Yet this woman subjected herself to it voluntarily, despite her fear of discovery, because she enjoyed it. Perhaps like him, she had masochistic tendencies, determined to punish herself for some perceived sin.

He watched the shadows play against the walls of out-stretched and whirling limbs, and he no longer restrain himself from looking directly at her. Her eyes were closed in intense concentration, and she was humming a tune that he recognized, but could not immediately place. His eyes became drawn to her chest, which without the restraint of a corset revealed an ample bosom. No wonder her corset creaked. To hide the bounty she had been bestowed with could only mean she was wearing one of those wretched English ones designed to rein a woman in, rather than enhance. Tearing his eyes away from that part of her anatomy, he drank in her long shapely legs. The ballet skirt should have fallen to mid-calf but at her height, it fell to just below the knee and flew about her as she turned.

She made use of the entire space, bobbing and weaving, her arms wrapped around her body at times, and at others outstretched to an unseen partner. Suddenly she grasped at some invisible prop and hurled herself to the ground, falling onto her back, her head turned toward him. Now he recognized the tune she had been humming. She had been recreating Giselle's death scene at the end of Act I. And not badly either. He had certainly seen worse. Technically she was not as proficient as some ladies he had seen, but she danced with a fire and passion most lacked. There was only one thing he could do, applaud her efforts.

The sound of clapping, and the words, "Brava! Brava, my dear!" spoken in that voice of his filled her senses, and she pushed herself up, more than slightly embarrassed at what he had seen. Every young dancer dreamed of playing Giselle on the stage, and she had been no different. The tragic tale of a peasant girl destroyed by her love of a man she could never hope to have was the most coveted part currently in ballet for a prima ballerina. And now he stood there, clapping, mocking her dream.

"Strange that you would favor _Giselle_, what would you know of suffering and dying for the one you love? What would you know of betrayal? Besides, aren't you a bit long in the tooth to be portraying a naïve young girl?" he spat at her.

"That is not your business, sir. And yes, I am all too aware of my advancing age." Unwilling to let him get the best of her, she shot back at him, "Perhaps you do not appreciate the story of a woman whose love survives even her death."

"Giselle was a fool. She could have had Hilarion and lived a happy life. Instead she killed herself because Albrecht deceived her. She threw away a chance at true love because of a fleeting infatuation with a duke. Even if he could have married her, he would have set her aside for a mistress once she gave him children. Perhaps then, she would have had reason to despair," he countered skillfully. "And do not forget, she betrayed Hilarion and then danced him to his death. That certainly makes her a paragon of virtue!" he continued, the sarcasm stinging her.

"You would have her be with a man she did not love! You sir, are the fool. You well know she did not want to kill Hilarion, she was forced to participate. Or did that part of Act II escape you? It would also seem you forget that despite his lies to her, Giselle saves Albrecht. The truth is monsieur, you hate Giselle because it reminds you all too well of that girl, Christine Daaé. Except of course, she did not kill herself or sacrifice herself to save you. Do not think I am unaware of the events of two years past."

The very mention of her name stirred Erik's blood, and he advanced on Gia, his hand raised, itching to slap her. She shrank back at his approach, but did not shield herself, instead seemingly resigned for the blow. "You know nothing, you bitch! I could have taken Christine and made her mine that night, but I let her go. I gave up everything for her, and let her leave with that boy. I rejected her!" he lied, trying to will himself to believe it.

Gia was not taken in for a moment, and continued to press him, she would not let him get the better of her in this argument. "If you rejected her, than why are there drawings of her everywhere in that cave you call home? If you hated her, her visage would be abhorrent to you. Even I can see you still love her."

This time Erik let his hand fly, backhanding her with his right hand. It landed squarely against her right cheek, and raised a red welt. Gia only closed her eyes to blink away the pain, and raised her voice to him, "You dare strike me for telling you the truth, you monster!" She raised her left hand, fully intending to rip his mask off, wanting to bring him similar pain and humiliation, but he deduced her thoughts and prevented her from doing so. With his hand on her wrist, he wrenched it back, forcing her to her knees, but still she would not cry. Instead she used her free hand to grab one of his legs, attempting to pull him to the ground. She was not quick enough, and so Erik gathered her in his arms, and hauled her to one side of the room, pinning her against the bar.

"Once again you dare show me your temper! Did I not teach you a lesson the last time? It would seem your memory is just as faulty as mine." This time instead of meeting her lips in a fierce kiss, he buried his warm lips against her neck, licking and biting his way toward her ear. He gently bit her earlobe, then laved the pain away with his tongue. Gia shuddered as pleasure ripped through her body, and she felt his breath on her ear, "You like that don't you? A little pleasure to temper the pain." His mouth wandered back down her neck, and this time he sucked forcefully on her pulse point, knowing it would mark her, brand her as his own.

Lost in a sea of sensation, Gia knew she had to do something. He would have her in this very room, and she knew she could not call it rape. She wanted this man as she had wanted none other, and that knowledge was painful and frightening. Everything about him called to her, from his mercurial eyes to his sudden flashes of violent displeasure. He made her want to give herself to him, body and soul even though she knew she was not what he really desired. She found herself able to free her right hand, and so she placed it lightly on his burgundy brocade waistcoat, pushing him away.

As his lips left her neck, and she spoke softly and clearly, "She is coming here."

At this he backed away, and Gia felt his weight lift from her. "How do you know? I was told she no longer comes to Paris."

"Meg Giry told me. She received a letter just yesterday. It will be their first trip away from the baby since his birth. They are planning to attend the opening night gala."

"You lie. I spoke to Madame Giry, and she told me nothing of this. I have known her for years, and she would not hide something like this from me."

"I do not know why she deceived you sir, but nonetheless she did. But in her defense, I did tell her I would inform you if she did not."

"Really. You must forgive my skepticism, but why should I believe you? Our association has not been long or particularly cordial." Erik looked directly at her, searching her eyes for lies, but could find none. There was only an odd serenity, as she told him, "I do not want any harm to come to this place. I was certain the sooner you knew of her arrival, the less chance there would be of a repeat of past wrongs."

"For once, you are correct my dear. But that does not explain why you disobeyed my orders to be waiting for me in your room. I do not brook insubordination well," he stated firmly.

"I would have been waiting for you, but for my conversation with Madame Giry. She told me that you were likely to sulk for several days following my previous outburst. I took the opportunity to come here for a little while. If I had thought you would come to me here, I would have remained in my room with a good book for company," she responded evenly.

By God, the woman employed logic like a lawyer! "Fine then, however, until further notice, unless you receive word from me personally, you will await me each evening." Recalling his note to Dupoix, he added, "Dupoix will probably be in contact with you soon about my salary. Try not to be too shocked. Tell him nothing about me. You will relay any messages he has to me at our meetings."

Mutely, she nodded in assent, understanding that she had become the official go between the two men. Before he left her, he moved in close once again, his hand brushing against her neck, "You will most likely need to do something about that," indicating the bruise already forming. Erik and Gianna met each other's gaze, and she could see the guilt in his eyes, asking for her forgiveness.

For the life of her, Gia could not be sure why she replied, "Mama always told me my emotions would get me in trouble. It's a good thing my dresses will cover this," she finished with a small smile. Gathering her things, she walked away, her heart hammering so loudly against her chest she was sure he would hear it.

Erik turned his head to watch her leave the room. Once again, he had forgotten to inquire about the day's rehearsals. Frankly, he no longer cared. Christine was coming, and he had to preparations to make.


	10. 10

In scant two weeks time, Christine Daaé would once again be in Paris, and Erik was still unsure of what he should do. He had thought that in the intervening years, he had come to terms with what had happened on that night. It had been his primary motivation to get away from Paris, the place he thought of as his home. With the funds he had saved from years of extortion, he had booked himself passage to London, and later moved on to Spain and Italy. He had been surprised that he enjoyed traveling so much, as his last experience with it had been as an attraction in a gypsy circus. Certainly this time around, the accommodations were far better. Instead of cold smelly hay, he had slept in featherbeds with silk sheets. He didn't even want to think about the food.

For months he had dreamt up complicated revenge scenarios by which he spirited Christine away from her husband, brought her to his bed, and only released her once he could be certain she was with child. Then he would cast her off, and she would have to learn what it meant to be an outcast in society. Time and distance had mellowed those thoughts so that when the streets of Paris called to him, and he was sure that he was prepared to deal with all the memories it would bring back. He had not counted on his senses being aroused so powerfully by a young woman he barely knew or that the one woman who had so thoroughly rent his heart into a million sliver-like pieces would return. She was supposed to stay in the country, making a life with her husband. She would give birth to, and raise his children, never to darken the door of an opera house again. He should have known better.

It was only natural that she would want to go back to Paris. The only family she had to speak of was Madame Giry and Meg, and that was where they were. Christine had grown up with opera and music, and despite the past, it was inevitable that she would not want to divorce herself from that part of her life. The greater surprise was that the vicomte was willing to let her venture into the city. He would have thought the boy would forbid she come in person, and insist that they come to her. He must be confident that he had not survived to make such a gamble.

Erik was unsettled that a course of action was not clear. In the months that had followed his downfall, if he had thought this opportunity would arise, he would have seized on the chance to use it to woo Christine. Now it all seemed so muddled. He walked over to the sketches he had made of her; some dressed as a Spanish peasant girl, others in the negligee she had worn to his lair. One was even of her in the wedding dress that he had personally designed and brought to the finest couturier he could afford. It had cost him nearly one month's salary, and she ruined it to bestow him with his first kiss. In each he had tried to capture the innocent light in her eyes and her soft, yielding expression. Would she still retain that after two years of marriage?

Did he even want to see her if she had lost it? At least now, he had his cherished memories of her, if that illusion was destroyed he might not survive. As he retreated to his organ, his inner voice whispered softly to him in the darkness, "Gianna." After tonight he could admit to himself that his lust for her was not a passing fancy. Not far beneath the cold exterior she had constructed was a fire that burned as hotly as his own. She wanted him but she would not admit to that.

From those stupid books she insisted on reading, she was undoubtedly confused. One wasn't supposed to feel desire without love. Sex had no place outside the marriage bed. Erik knew otherwise from some the manuals he had consulted over the years. Lust was just as powerful, if not more so, and it was something he had learned to harness years ago. He had channeled it into his music, but now there was the opportunity to make use of all he'd learned over the years. With some prodding, she would be a willing partner in his bed. And considering her ardent response to the infliction of a small amount of pain, it spoke of dark desires that he was intrigued to explore.

If he was careful, she would beg for him to take her in any way he wanted. He would stoke the flame, as he had with Christine, only this time there was no rival for Gianna's affections. Even better, the only in heart in danger was not his.

He should give her something, a token of affection she would appreciate. Flowers would be too easy. It took a moment until he settled on the perfect gift. Tomorrow it would be waiting for her, along with a message from him. With that thought he began to play, losing himself in the sound and fury of the music only he was capable of creating.

* * *

The early April morning dawned chilly, but the sun was bright. It was a Saturday, and today there would be no rehearsals. Gia shuddered as her feet touched the cold floor and made her way over to the vanity where her mirror hung. She examined the mark on her neck. She had hoped it might fade during the night or had been a product of her imagination, but if anything it was more prominent. It was a livid purple against the whiteness of her skin. "How could such an ugly thing have come into being from such pleasure?" she mused aloud. She had enjoyed his attentions last night, even though initially her only thoughts had been to hurt him.

She flushed scarlet as she recalled the dreams she'd had last night. In them they were both unclothed and he touched her in her most intimate areas. There had been no fear, only acceptance. He had told her she was beautiful and that he loved her just before he had united their bodies in one powerful stroke. In return her hips rose to meet his and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper and harder, all the while her skin was alive with awareness and a pressure was building inside her. Suddenly it had exploded and all the muscles in her body contracted, waking her. The ripples cascaded for a few moments, and then they evaporated and all that was left was a strangely empty feeling.

She needed guidance, and if she hurried she would be able to speak to Father Lessard who would be hearing confessions. She quickly dressed and grabbed a black lace veil to cover her head and made her way to St. Etienne's parish, which was only three blocks away. There were a few people waiting quietly by the confessional, and with only the sound of mumbled prayers and the occasional opening of the door, she waited her turn. All too soon, the door opened, and she found herself kneeling before the priest beginning the ritual of reconciliation that she had been taught long ago.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession."

The kindly voice on the other side urged her on, "Continue my child. Tell me your sins, and God shall forgive them." Father Lessard recognized the voice of Gianna Burnside on the other side of the screen. She came regularly usually to assuage herself of small sins, and he was certain this confession would be no different.

Her voice wavering, unsure of what to say, she could only stammer, "Father, I have been having lustful thoughts of a man who has recently become known to me. We have . . we have done shameful things together. I cannot stop thinking of him. I even dream of him."

This was certainly an interesting turn of events, he thought. Who could this man be? But that was not his place to ask. "Have you compromised yourself?"

"No Father. But I fear I want to."

"You must resist this temptation. The Lord does not present us with anything we are not capable of resisting. I suggest that you avoid this man's company. A gentleman would not proceed in such a manner."

"I regret to inform you I cannot avoid him. He is at the opera house, and I see him each day." Gia wanted to tell the priest that the man was the Phantom of the opera, knowing that the sanctity of the confessional would protect them all, but she could not bring herself to say it aloud. He might think she was mad.

Puzzled, Lessard added, "Do you care for this man?"

"I do not know, father! I hardly know anything about him. I only know what he makes me feel when we are alone together," she sobbed.

"There is a reason why lust is one of the seven deadly sins, my daughter." He continued sagely, "You know where this can lead from experience. I know you have seen what happens to those girls who fall into the arms of men without the sacrament of marriage. The next time you are alone with him, remember that, and it will cool your ardor. Now for your penance, I want you to say 10 Aves and make your Act of Contrition."

The confession concluded, she recited the Latin words that tripped off her lips with ease. He excused her, and she took a place in the nearest pew where she kneeled and completed her penance. After crossing herself a final time, she made her way out of the church and back to the opera house. On her way in Gia spied Madame Giry who was wearing a fashionable navy walking dress, and looked to be leaving to attend to some errands. Gia hoped that the ballet mistress would not notice her, but the observant woman waved at her, and arrived at her side before Gia could scurry away unnoticed.

"Mlle. Burnside," she called, "Have you just come from St. Etienne's? I need to make some calls this morning. Goodness knows when I'll get the chance if I don't do it today. Why don't you join me?" the woman warmly invited. Gia wanted to turn it down, but she sounded so sincere that she found herself saying yes and tagging along as Madame Giry marched briskly along.

The first stop was at a small dress shop where Madame Giry was looking for material for new dinner dresses for her and Meg. They had been invited to dine with the Chagny's following the premiere, and such an auspicious occasion necessitated a small splurge. Giry fingered some pale rose fabric and considered it for Meg. She noted that Mlle. Burnside was singularly uncomfortable in the confines of the shop. Seeking to draw her out, she inquired, "Do you think this would look well on Meg? I think it would suit her coloring, but she will most likely say it is too young for her."

"You will find, Mme. Giry, my knowledge of fashion to be most limited. I am afraid I will be of little assistance," she replied coldly. She prayed she did not sound jealous, and instead merely indifferent. Gia had often wished for a pink dress, but her mother had dismissed the idea saying that girls with reddish hair should never wear the color. Instead she had often worn pale blue which had made some of the more uncharitable girls whisper that she dressed like a boy.

"Why does she keep pushing people away?" Giry wondered. She might pretend she did not care, but few women truly had no care for their appearance. The child probably could not afford expensive clothing, and she would not accept charity having once been relatively well off. Knowing the conversation would proceed no further, she brought her selections to the counter, a dark plum for herself and the rose for Meg. She gave the girl a few instructions on what she wanted done, and when she turned around she saw Gianna eyeing a stunning red silk, the bright shade that was often reserved for cardinals of the Church. It would look stunning on her, but even Giry could not afford to have a dress made of it, and her salary was quite handsome. The young woman was so entranced by the fabric that Giry had to nudge her to get her attention.

Next they proceeded to a specialty shop that catered to dancers. Gia went there to buy practice stockings and lamb's wool when she could afford them. The proprietress bestowed a sunny smile on both women and welcomed them heartily. The two older women slid into easy conversation, the kind that comes from years of close association.

"Antoinette, so good to see you again! I see you have made the acquaintance of Mlle. Burnside. Perhaps you can persuade her to buy something besides stockings and lamb's wool. I don't think she's bought a pair of shoes in months. They must be in terrible condition if she uses them regularly."

Gia overheard her, and shot her a nasty look. Gia silently resolved to find another place to buy her meager supplies. Giry was there to purchase some toe shoes for Meg, one pair in crimson that she would wear for her solo during _The Magic Flute_. Yet another thing Gia had coveted, only never to be given the opportunity to indulge. She heard Giry quip in response, "Surely, Madeline you know that Mlle. Burnside is not a dancer. What need would she have of shoes? I'm sure she was only making those purchases for someone else."

"I suppose you are right. It never did make much sense. That is something you have always had in spades," she said with a laugh. Following this remark, Gia and Giry left the shop and as they exited Gia thanked the ballet mistress for her quick thinking.

"You are most welcome." She then used the woman's name for the first time, "Gia, I'd like us to be friends. I want you to trust me. I promise you, I will do nothing to betray your confidences."

The veil of suspicion lifted, and as they made their way toward the bakery, Gia began to recount the events of the past evening to Madame Giry, this time without obfuscation. They were both so engrossed in conversation that neither noticed the dark cloaked figure slip into the shop as they turned the corner.

After making the last few stops that included the bakery and the grocery to purchase a few sundry items such as fruit and cheese, Madame Giry insisted on treating Gia to lunch. As it was still too chilly to eat outdoors, they took seats at a small booth indoors where there was room for Madame Giry to set down her parcels.

A waiter came over and took their orders, and once he left, the discussion returned to the subject of Erik. "I want to be sure of one thing, my dear, at no time did he force you to do anything?" she gently inquired. Gia only nodded in the negative. "And you have enjoyed his attentions, haven't you? That's why you went to St. Etienne's. You were feeling guilty."

"Shouldn't I feel guilty? I do not love him and yet when he is near I have nothing but shameless thoughts about him. I have not even seen what lies behind that mask. At this point, I think it would make little difference to me. I know he cannot want me. He still loves the vicomtess. I am ignoring my better judgment in favor of some momentary elusive bliss."

Giry could no longer contain her laughter, and set down her coffee into its saucer before she spoke again, "Are you made of some other substance than the rest of humanity that should make you impervious to his charms? He is a most handsome man, and he uses that to his advantage. It is most wicked of me to say, but do you not deserve some male attention? You are far too young to be so resigned to a life alone."

Gia averted her eyes, unable to look the older woman in the face. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she answered in as low a voice as possible, "Madame Giry, I do not deserve any male attention. I have nothing to offer him."

"I think you underestimate yourself. You are not unattractive. Mayhap if you dressed—"

she would have continued but she was cut off, "Mme. Giry allow me to put this most clinically, I am no longer a virgin. I cannot even give him my good reputation. "

Momentarily stunned into silence, the two women focused on their food for several long minutes until Giry gathered up the courage to speak. "Tell me how it happened. It could not have been by your choice of that much I am sure. Why do you punish yourself for the actions of one wretched man?"

"I am not blameless. I should not have lingered in the hallway so late after practice. Mama warned me that it might encourage unwelcome suitors, but I laughed at her. No one would be interested in a woman as big as a man with wide hips and a plain face. I should have listened to her, she knew what was best for me," her voice had grown distant and the blood drained away from her face as she recounted the events of ten years previous. "A stage hand grabbed me, forced his tongue down my throat. I gagged and tried to call out, push him away, but he was stronger than I, even though I was taller than him. He tore the bodice of my practice dress and pinned me to the wall. He kept telling me to relax, that everything would be fine. It would only hurt for a moment. I felt him push something inside me, and then I just hoped it would end. Then he jerked away from me, and he ruined my skirt. It was almost brand new. Mama had to throw it away. His name was Joseph Buquet."

Giry's heart ached for this woman who had been raped by one man and then made to feel culpable for his actions by her harpy of a mother. Silently she thanked Erik for hanging that dreadful man. He deserved death for what he had done to this woman. No wonder her feelings for Erik were so confusing. Between the circumstances of her birth and the events of her own life, sex had only wrought pain. She reached out across the table and took her hand, "He is dead you know. Buquet." She would not tell her his manner of death or who was responsible for it. "I know this is difficult to hear, particularly since she is dead, but your mother should never have told you any of it was your fault."

The rest of the meal passed without a word, and when they reached the opera house, they parted ways almost immediately. Gia went to check to see if Monsieur Dupoix was looking for her, and Madame Giry sought out her daughter. Dupoix was not in his office so Gia decided to return to her room.

When she opened the door she found lying on her bed a bundle of purple tulips tied with a yellow ribbon, a note, and a small brown paper package. The note read:

_I believe you have some need for these. _

_I look forward to your next performance,_

_Erik_

His name was Erik. The name suited him. Like a child on Christmas, Gia tore open the parcel to reveal a brand new pair of pink ballet slippers and toe shoes. A brief glance at the inner label told her the size was perfect. He had gone through her closet and God knows what else during her absence. Her insides quaked at what else he might have uncovered besides her shoe size.


	11. 11

**A/N: For those of you wishing for Erik to act kinder toward Gia, here you go. Although, I couldn't resist him trying to seduce her first. He can be such a naughty boy sometimes!**

* * *

Gia spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, knowing that eventually Erik would come to her. This time she would explain to him why their relationship could never go beyond what it was at the present. She would be his unwilling accomplice in all matters relating to the Metropolitan, but no more. If he wanted a woman in his bed there were plenty of other women in the opera house who would oblige him.

She had placed the flowers in a small vase and set them on her bed side table. The last time she had been given flowers was by Mr. Dupoix after her mother's funeral. He had hoped that the sunny yellow roses would cheer her up, but at the time she had been so despondent, she had thrown them out the window. She was not sure if the tulips were meant to be a romantic or a friendly gesture. Tulips had always struck her as being such happy flowers, and she smiled at the bouquet. But it was the fact he had presented her with the shoes that touched her the most. She had been saving funds for the past few weeks because she knew she desperately required a new pair. His unexpected gift would allow her to spend that money on yet another volume for her bookshelf. It was frivolous to use that money on books, but they allowed her a safe escape from these walls. Books had taken her to glittering London, romantic Venice, and the mysterious East, places she would never see in this life.

Going to her shelf, she plucked a copy of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ from the neat row, and settled onto her bed for satisfying read. She had read the story dozens of times, and she never tired of reading of the exploits of the clever Elizabeth Bennett and the dark and handsome Mr. Darcy. Gia became so absorbed in the novel, she did not notice the hours slipping by, and she was startled when she heard a loud knock at the door.

Was it him? Was he actually extending her the courtesy of asking for entrance into her room? She could only assume so. There was no one else who was likely to call on her, except for Madame Giry, and following their discussion this afternoon that seemed unlikely. Idly, she swept her hands up to her hair, attempting to neaten it since several strands had come loose. It was largely a useless gesture, but she wanted to present her best face for him. She turned the brass handle slowly and found herself face to face with Mr. Dupoix, who was clutching a large black case that reminded her of what doctors usually carry on their house calls.

"Gianna, I am sorry for disturbing you, but the Opera Ghost bade me to give this to you," he said with a touch of nervousness in his voice. He held the bag out to her, and she took it from him, surprised at how heavy it was.

"What is inside?" she asked, wondering what Erik could possible want from the manager that weighed so much.

"His salary, all $25,000 francs of it. I counted it myself to be certain that the bank's count was accurate. I trust that concludes our business for the month?"

"You are paying him $25,000 francs a month!" she nearly screeched. "That's a fortune. You could pay nearly the entire orchestra for that."

"I will do what I must. He promised me in his note that if I do his bidding no harm will come to this place or anyone in it. He also seems satisfied with the way rehearsals are going, and did not make any artistic demands. If all he wants is money, I am happy to give it to him," he concluded simply.

"Do you have any message for him? Er—He told me that you should send them through me." _Sacre bleu_, she must be more careful in the future! She had been about to call him by his name in the presence of Mr. Dupoix.

"No Gianna, I do not have any message for him at the present. But I would like to know why you have become involved with him."

Gia hated to lie to Dupoix, but she was not about to reveal the specific details of why she had been pressed into the service of the Phantom. "I am helping him for the same reason you are. I know his reputation, and I fear what could befall the Metropolitan if I refused to assist him."

Dupoix seemingly accepted her glib response and withdrew, leaving her clutching the black bag. Curious, she opened the bag to find five neat stacks of bundled 100 franc notes. Gia had never seen such a large amount of money all in one place. As it was, she collected a salary of 150 francs a month which was barely enough to keep her fed and clothed. It had been easier when Mama was alive. Dupoix had paid her a pension, and she had savings from her days as an opera diva. Now with only her meager funds to sustain her, Gia was going to have to consider selling some of her treasures. She flatly refused to consider asking for a raise, and most of the other methods of raising money available to a young woman were distasteful and out of the question.

The timepiece on the vanity indicated it was nearly six in the evening. She would have thought Erik would have come by now. Just as she was about to go out to get something to eat, she heard a soft click, and the unmistakable rustle of fabric. He entered through the wardrobe as usual, his cape flowing behind him. As per usual he was wearing what Gia had come to think of as his uniform, black trousers topped with a white shirt, a waistcoat, a neatly pinned black cravat, and black tails. The only variation was that this evening his waistcoat was a deep blue that reminded her of the night sky. His clothes were made of the finest materials available, and she speculated where he got them. With the salary he was making, he could certainly afford them.

As he came toward her, she reached down next to the bed and tossed the satchel at him. He caught it easily, and immediately looked inside. He drew out the stacks of notes, one at a time, and a quick flip through made him confident that the full salary had been paid. If he had been short-changed, he would have been very vexed. Unlike the last two managers he had dealings with, this one seemed to have some common sense. Feeling very satisfied with himself, he continued his advance on Gianna, anxious to see her reaction to him.

"Did Dupoix have a message for me?" he asked as he took a position leaning rakishly on her chair.

"No. He only asked me why I was aiding you," she answered shortly.

"And your response to his inquiry was?" Erik was honestly interested in what she had told him. She would be hesitant to lie, but he was sure she would rather die than admit her secret visits to the practice rooms.

"I told him I was helping you because I feared what would become of the opera house if I did not, given your reputation. That seemed to placate him."

"Very good, my dear," he said as he moved away from the chair and began to make his way toward the bed where she was sitting. However, before he got close, she swung her legs to the other side and stood up, effectively using the bed as a barrier between them.

"Come now, Gianna, let's not play foolish games. We are both too old to do this. You want me. You want to know what it will feel like when we are together with no clothing between us, only skin. You want me to stroke that body of yours that you trap in a corset into the fulfillment that has been long denied it. You want me to make you into the woman you have tried so hard not to be." He spun the seductive words like a spider, and briefly Gia was tempted to allow herself to be caught in his web.

"No, monsieur, you will keep your distance. There shall be no repeats of our former encounters. Please, take a seat. I wish to explain something to you. Then perhaps you will realize why this seduction of me is pointless," her voice was hard and she would not take no for an answer.

Amused, Erik turned, and settled into the chair, only then did Gianna resume her place on the bed. "Fine then, explain to me why I should stop doing something that I know would both bring us great pleasure," he retorted, careful to maintain the seductive tone of his lower register.

"To begin monsieur—"

"Call me by my name Gianna. It is not something I share with many. I want to hear you say it."

She closed her eyes and swallowed. She would get through this. Once he knew the truth, he would want nothing to do with her. How many times had her mother told her no man would want go where another had been? Just this once, she would do his bidding without question.

"To begin, Erik, although my mother tried to keep me sheltered from the seedier elements that surround this place, I am not unaware of what goes on in the dark hallways and corridors after hours. I know that many of the ballet dancers and chorus girls sell themselves to any gentleman who can afford them. I am even aware of what happens to some of the girls who foolishly fall in love with these men, expecting them to leave their wives and fiancées for them. I have seen their fates, and I have no wish to repeat it.

Do you know how many girls I have seen over the years die from the attentions of these so called gentlemen? It may be in childbed, or from some loathsome disease, or even occasionally when one who tried to dispose of the child before it could be born, but the number has been far too many to count. Those who do not die, become whores, and eventually the men grow tired of them and leave. Perhaps one girl in a hundred finds a man who offers an honorable marriage. If I cannot have that, I want no part of passion," she concluded.

"So if I was offering you marriage, came to you on bended knee with a ring, then you no longer resist," he returned, debating with her.

"Erik if you asked me, I would never accept you. First, I know next to nothing about you. What I do know is that you are a murderer and capable of doing almost anything to gain what you desire. In that way, you are like a small spoiled child who will cry until its mother gives him the treat he wants. I also know that what you feel for me is only lust, although only God knows why you seem to be so determined to be with me. I know I am big and plain. The woman you want is the one in those drawings. I could never be with a man who is using me as a substitute."

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you that I want you as much as you desire me? You gave me a glimpse of those luscious curves of yours last evening. You are far more voluptuous than Christine ever was. I have dreamt of no one but you since we met. Allow me to show you all the things I have dreamed about us doing together," he said, leaning forward in the chair, getting as close to her as possible without getting up.

His hot words penetrated Gia to her very core, and she had flashes of them, bodies entwined amongst black silk sheets, their pale bodies in stark relief, rocking. Heat suffused her center and her thighs were damp.

Gathering what little mental strength she had left, she added, "Erik, I had not finished. The truth of it is, it matters little to me that you want me. I am not at liberty to be the focus of your desires."

Wryly he remarked, "Have you become engaged recently, then? Tell me who the lucky man is. I shall have to congratulate him on snapping up a woman like you. I wonder what he will say when I tell him about how much you liked it when I hurt you."

Once again he sought to bring out her temper, but she answered evenly, "You know there is no one. Must you always insult and humiliate me! Just once, couldn't you act like a gentleman?"

"As you so astutely pointed out, my dear, gentlemen rarely behave like gentlemen where sex is concerned. I must admit though, I am very interested for you to tell me why you are not worthy of me. What dark, terrible secret have you been concealing from me?" his voice taking on that mocking tone she had come to despise.

"I am not a virgin! Does that make you happy, knowing that I am soiled! I can never be clean again. I will never marry. No man would have me," Gia spat at him.

Her confession stunned Erik, and suddenly coaxing her into bed was the last thing on his mind. It was not that he particularly cared that she was no longer a virgin. It was that _she_ did. What had happened to her that she felt so unworthy of ever finding physical closeness with a man? He had to choose his words with care, he did not want her to think it was her maidenhead that attracted him, but rather her passionate nature that simmered just below the surface. The only thing that came to mind was, "I would still have you, Gia," which he said softly, almost tenderly, his eyes a soft grey blue as he spoke.

At this, Gia could no longer contain her tears, "I will not become a whore! My mother taught me better than that!"

"What she taught you was to shut out life! Why? Because once you allowed your emotions to get the best of you? Because just once you allowed yourself to taste the sweetness that men like me would kill for? There is no reason to keep punishing yourself."

"But it was my fault! She told me. She warned me that men would think I was just like those other girls if I lurked in the hallways. And by God she was right! I deserved it." By now, Gia had become hysterical, and she was weeping opening, mourning for a meaningless scrap of flesh that she had been taught was her greatest worth to a man.

Slowly Erik realized what she was alluding to. It had not been some eager tumble with a stable boy that went too far, but instead she had been raped. What kind of mother would make her daughter believe it had been her fault? Suddenly so much about Gianna Burnside made sense, and somewhere deep within, Erik wanted to make the hurting stop. Not because he was hoping to bed her, but because this woman's soul was perhaps as twisted as his own. Looking at her, her eyes red from sobbing, her face wet with tears, Erik could not tamp down a desire to comfort her. She needed to know that a man's touch could bring more than just pain or pleasure.

He rose and edged up to the bed where she was sitting. He sat next to the broken woman and put an arm around her. Instead of shying away, Gia found herself burying her head against his chest, pouring out tears that she had not been allowed to shed ten years ago. She clung to this man, trying to absorb his strength as he stroked her hair, and murmured into her ear that everything was alright and that she would be safe with him, that he would never hurt her.

Amidst her tears, he heard one word as clear as fine crystal, "_Buquet_."

The mention of the dead stagehand's name could only mean one thing. He had been the man responsible for what she perceived as her ruin. Erik had to be sure it was not a mere coincidence.

"Gia, do you mean Joseph Buquet? Was he the man?" he asked softly, training his eyes on her, willing her to look him. As he had hoped, she extricated her head from his chest to peer up at him.

"Yes," she choked. "Do you know him? Madame Giry told me he was dead."

Erik was relieved that she had shared her secret with Madame Giry. That woman was far better equipped to deal with her emotions than him. Should he tell her about how he knew Buquet? He had never trusted the stage hand who had peep holes strategically placed into the corps de ballet and chorus dressing rooms. He had plugged more than a few holes over the years, and still they sprung up like unwanted weeds. When Erik had learned the man had been telling tales of the Phantom to the ballet girls and had been attempting to figure out how Erik accessed the flies, he had no compunction about killing him. It seemed that this man's blood was worth less than even he had imagined.

Looking into her shiny wet eyes, he uttered the words that might cause her to push him away, to serve as a final rejection, "I know Gia. I killed him."

Her lip quivering response was, "Thank you. Thank you, Erik," as she collapsed against him once again.

Gently, he laid her down, all the while keeping her in his arms, and softly he began to sing to her, a lullaby he had long ago thought he had forgotten. Gia stopped crying, and feeling safe for the first time since her mother had died, she fell asleep in the tender embrace of a man she knew to be a thief and a killer. Once he was sure she would not awaken if he moved her, Erik dropped a soft kiss against her lips and retreated from the room.


	12. 12

Gia had not expected such tenderness from Erik at her admission. She had been oddly relieved when he took her in his arms and comforted her like a small child. No man had ever held her in such a manner, and for the first time she realized than Erik was a man of hidden depths. There was far more to him than his Phantom persona. Just as she used her icy mien to keep the world at a distance, he had used his arrogance and self-assurance to hide his compassion. The only difference was that his mask was physical and hers was ephemeral.

She should have been repulsed when he confessed to murdering Buquet, instead she felt only gratitude. Although he did not say how he killed the man, she was sure Erik had made him suffer. Gia was willing to risk eternal damnation for taking comfort in that most un-Christian thought. Burying her head against the silk of his cravat had been an unexpected pleasure. She had undoubtedly ruined it with her tears. For those moments he held her in his strong embrace, his voice gentle in her ear, Gia felt as though she had come home. That thought shook her to her very core. His song had soothed her into a deep sleep, and she did not wake until the next morning. She could almost swear that before he left her, he had placed a soft kiss on her mouth.

That could only have been the product of an overactive imagination.

* * *

In his lair, Erik wondered what the next step should be in his burgeoning relationship with Gianna Burnside. He had never expected to feel anything beyond his lust for her. She had moved him, and no one had done that to him in quite some time. He had taken pity on the orphaned Christine and taught her to sing because he saw how very alone she had been. Her father had promised her to send her an angel of music, and for a time, he was more than happy to fill that role.

It had only been as Christine had grown into maturity, and he noticed that there were curves where there had been once only angles that his thoughts shifted. He could still recall with clarity the moment he became aware he wanted to be more to her than a teacher. She had been singing, her voice rising ever higher almost effortlessly, her expression one of rapt wonder; and he had found himself intensely aroused. Initially he had been disgusted with himself, but looking at her again, he saw she was no longer the child she had been. Christine was a woman, and he had been sure that she would love him, despite the horror of his face.

Not for the first time he cursed the name of Raoul de Chagny, with his perfect face and golden blonde hair. Erik had to stifle a laugh the first time he laid eyes on him because the boy looked like a prince out of a fairy tale. He had been so certain that Christine would prefer the passions of a man to the inane babblings of a mere boy. Now he was aware that he should have taken him more seriously as a rival, particularly following the swordfight in the cemetery. He had underestimated the boy's abilities with a saber, and Erik had nearly paid for that mistake with his life. Only Christine had stayed the boy's hand. The boy had been prepared to take a life which spoke highly of him.

It had not been a lie when he told Gia that she was the only woman he fantasized about. His visions of a lithe brunette had been replaced with that of a curvier woman with unusual bronze hair. No longer were the eyes that looked up at him with heat dark but blue. Gia accused him of still loving Christine, and that was true. She would always hold a very special place in his heart, as she was the first person he had ever let get a glimpse of who he truly was. It had only been in the past few days that he had found his more libidinous thoughts toward her fading, morphing into a more chaste affection.

With her imminent arrival, Erik was unsure of how to handle himself. What he really wanted to do was have a talk with her. A civilized, adult discussion where he could assure her that she and her child had nothing to fear from him. He wanted to know what she had been doing the last two years, and be certain that she truly did love the vicomte de Chagny. If he had ever laid an unkind hand on her, he would kill him. He might do it irregardless. He and Christine had parted on such terrible terms, with him nearly forcing her into marriage by threatening to murder Raoul in front of her, and then breaking down when she kissed him. That boy had ruined everything!

But that had not been the worst moment. Those minutes when she returned to him, wordlessly handing him the engagement ring had at one time almost broken his sanity permanently. Unable to speak, he had keened, "Christine, I love you," in the vain hope she would leap into his arms. But she left, glancing back at him occasionally as she sang of sharing a lifetime of love with another man who by all rights should be dead. It had been his weakness that cost him the love of his life. For that reason he would always loathe Raoul de Chagny with all the intensity of his love for Christine.

His thoughts turned to Gianna Burnside, a woman who pain ran as deep as his own. They both saw themselves as outcasts of society, although he mused, she had no need to be. Her only defect was invisible, and his was obvious to anyone he met. He did recall that during his travels occasionally people would stare at his mask, but when his coin crossed their palm they often seemed to forget it was there. He could not however. His mask was as much a part of him as his right arm, and without it he could not function, in society or otherwise.

What were his feelings for Gianna? It could not be love, they had only just met. There was lust of course, and a deep seated emotion he could only call pity, but somehow it felt like more than that. He had dreamt of finding release in her arms again last night, but this time, instead of the dream ending at the moment they both reached their peak, they had lain together, enjoying the post-coital silence. He had pulled her large frame against him, and they fit together like spoons in a drawer, his right arm thrown over her hip, their legs and feet a jumble, his head buried against her neck.

Erik shook his head. However he might wish of obtaining that closeness with her, it would not happen given her present state of mind. He was willing to give her time. He would show her kindness and solicitation; letting her take the lead, and make the decisions. He did not relish being in the subservient role, but if she could come to trust him, then perhaps nature would take its course. He did not want to dwell on what would happen if she rejected him.

Striding over to his organ, he began to play, pausing intermittently to record the notes for posterity. God, he was as delusional as her! She dreamed of dancing before an audience, and his fondest wish to have his works performed before the public. Both knew it was unlikely to pass, but they were unable or unwilling to do so, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness. They made a fine pair, clinging to their hopes.

The very word "clinging" conjured images that he was hesitant to push aside. However, he did want to get some work done before their scheduled meeting.

* * *

The next week of meetings passed generally without incident. Rehearsals were going well and Gia and Erik were on their best behavior whenever they met, and endeavored to keep a respectable distance at all times. Gia even found herself enjoying his company, and looking forward to discussing the intricacies of the production also known as the "Masonic Opera". There were occasions when they slipped, their hands brushing, or holding a gaze far longer than was seemly. During that time, Gia showed Erik all the nooks and crannies of the old opera house, and shared with him the secrets of its divas past and present. In return he had shared stories of the Populaire, and the tricks he had played on its residents over the years. She had let out a musical laugh when he recounted all the times he had released backdrops onto the insufferable La Carlotta, hoping that she would get the message and quit the place.

It was in the upper attics that they came the closest to an indiscretion. She had been showing him where many of the old props and sets were stored, many from a long ago production of _Aida_ where she had played a slave girl in the corps de ballet. Without thinking, he blurted out, "I'm sure you looked most fetching in your costume," and he gestured toward the truck where they were neatly packed in mothballs. On a lark, Gia dug through the trunk to see if it was there. Near the bottom she found the transparent violet skirt and matching bodice, both trimmed with silver piping, and she held them up.

"Leaves little to the imagination, doesn't it? Mama had a conniption when she saw me in it for the first time. I was too young to understand what made her so angry. At the time, I was thrilled to wear something that would allow such freedom of movement, and simultaneously irked her," she said with a small smile, remembering the days when she had been so carefree. "That was before--" and there she stopped knowing there was no need to complete the sentence.

Seized with desire at the thought of her in such an outfit, he had come up to her and purred in her ear, "Put it on."

She gave him a sharp look, but instead of an instant reprimand she joked, "If only there was somewhere to change! Alas, there is not, and you Erik, shall have to be satisfied with using that imagination of yours."

With that she set the garments back in the trunk, and Erik found himself stunned into silence at her sudden burst of humor and wit. He could picture her all too well, her hair loose, her curved arms and legs bare with only the flimsy fabric to cover them, whirling across the stage, her only thoughts on the performance. She must have been a wondrous sight, all white skin and innocence. Today, in that manner of costume, she would have been the stuff of his darkest fantasies, and inwardly he was relieved that she had brushed off his suggestion so easily. But he would not let it molder in this musty attic. The next day while Gia had been rehearsing he had returned and brought it down to his home.

He had brought her back there on a couple of occasions, still insisting she don the mask for each trip. He had shown her his music, and she gave him her brutally honest assessment of it. She said it was ahead of its time and would probably not be very successful, but she encouraged him to keep writing because she loved to listen to it. It was a welcome change of pace from the lightness of Mozart.

Erik had found himself tempted to show her _Don Juan Triumphant_, but its failure was still a sore point. He wondered if the reason why she did not ask about it was out of concern for his feelings, or because she assumed that the score had been destroyed. He kept the lone remaining copy in his desk drawer. Their uneasy relationship had become something resembling friendship, but he could tell that she was still gripped with fear that he would one day turn on her. He had seen it in her eyes every night when he brought her back to her room. They pleaded with him to release her, but Erik was not about to let go until she admitted the depth of her feelings toward him.

* * *

Gia had avoided Madame Giry as much as possible, knowing that she would be anxious to learn what Gia had told Erik of her past. But on Saturday a knock came on her door, and she found Madame Giry standing there with a letter in her hands. A quick glance told her the letter did not come from Erik as the stationary was pale blue and sealed with a black wax "C". It was most likely more news from Christine. Gia hated to think what ill news it must be for the ballet mistress to come.

"You look well, my child," she said as she stepped into the room. "Far better than the last time I saw you. Has he been visiting you?"

"Erik has been a frequent visitor," she paused, allowing the fact that she knew his name to sink in before she continued. "We have come to an understanding."

The corner of Giry's mouth twitched into a half smirk, "Quite so. I had noticed that this week you have looked more at ease. Is he making you happy?"

"I do not like the tenor of that question Madame Giry. We are friendly, nothing more." Gia did not want her privy to all that had passed in the last week. She did not want Giry to think that she thought of Erik as anything more than a friend. He had been so cordial and kind, and at times, even funny. There had only been that time in the attic that she had felt the heat of his breath on her that she had been concerned he would touch her again. She had skillfully parried his forceful thrust that she put on the old costume with humor, and that had appeared to deflate him. But now was not the time to revel in her memories.

"Madame Giry, what brings you here? Have you some news from the vicomtess that you wish me pass on to Erik?"

"Actually my dear, I have some exciting news for you. I wrote to Christine telling her all about my new life here, and I mentioned you to her. She has extended an invitation to you to join us for dinner following the gala. I came here to tell you."

Gia immediately became furious. What had this woman been telling Christine? Had she revealed that Erik was still alive and pining for her? She could not suppress her angry outburst, "What have you told her about me? You promised me that you would not reveal my confidences!"

Giry had expected that Gia would not be pleased, but she was hopeful that she could get her to agree to attend. She needed to get away from this place, if for only an evening. "Gia, I only told Christine that you were a chorus girl much like herself who had grown up at the Metropolitan. That was enough to spark her interest. She wants to meet you."

Taken more than slightly aback, Gia responded quizzically, "A vicomtess wants to make my acquaintance? I am both flattered and more than a bit astounded. However, you shall have to inform her that I am unable to attend," she finished firmly.

"Why? I assure you, Christine and her husband are not as snobbish as most opera patrons. She is of most humble origins, and has never forgotten it. I thought you would enjoy a nice meal and some conversation with someone closer to your own age."

"I am at least six years older than her. She is not my peer," she returned coldly, all too well knowing that age difference was closer to eight years.

"I was referring to her husband. You must be of an age. He is a most amiable gentleman. But you have still not explained to me the reason behind your refusal," Giry demanded.

"You will find it a most ridiculously female one. I have nothing appropriate to wear, and no funds with which to afford a new dress."

"Christine will understand. I am certain you will have something appropriate in here." Madame Giry went over to the wardrobe and opened it to find a row of black dresses in various weights and fabrics as would be appropriate for the seasons. There was a black taffeta that would do even it was unfashionable. She took it out and said, "This will do."

"Nonetheless, you will tell Christine that I shall not be present. If you wish, tell her I was too embarrassed by my circumstances, but I thank her for thinking of me."

"If that is what you wish, Gia," she stated as she returned the dress to the rack. As she did so, Madame Giry could swear she heard the sound of something on the other side of the wardrobe. So, that was how Erik was visiting her! If he had overheard their conversation, he might insist that Gia go. Keeping her fingers crossed in mind, if not in reality, she bid Gia a hasty farewell.

As soon as the door closed behind her with a click, Erik came bounding out of the wardrobe, his eyes flashing green.

"You will go to that dinner."

"Erik, I will not. It would be most uncomfortable for me."

"Do you think I care if spending a couple hours with Christine makes you uncomfortable?" he rejoined. "I do not want you to enjoy yourself, I want you to observe her and that boy husband of hers."

Gia should have known. His kindness to her had only been to lull her into a false sense of security. Once again he was the masterful and overbearing figure he had originally presented himself as. Why could he not be the man who had made her feel so secure in his embrace and made her laugh so often during the week? "As I said Erik, I have nothing to wear, and I cannot afford to get anything new."

"Then I shall write to Dupoix and inform him to give you an advance. Or a raise if you like."

"No, Dupoix already has the added expense of you at the moment. Besides, he will get suspicious if you make any demands on my behalf," hoping that this explanation would placate him.

She was correct. Dupoix would wonder why he was insisting a chorus girl be paid more than she was worth. "Fine then, I will give you the money. But only on the condition you dress like a woman. Nothing black, and something that displays some of your assets," he added as he leered at her chest. "But still tasteful mind you."

"I do not want your charity! It is only a kind word for pity. But if you insist, I shall tell Madame Giry I have changed my mind. I will wear the black taffeta," she sighed. "And stop looking at me that way! You have been so well behaved of late. I had begun to think you did possess some semblance of manners. You disappoint me, Erik."

Pleased he was able to change her mind, he ceased his ogling, and took a seat in her chair. "Excellent. Things seem to be progressing quite well on _The Magic Flute_. I heard you singing Papagena today. Is that silly cow Adrienne ill?"

"No. Reyer just wanted to be sure in the event she is, I am prepared. I almost wish she was, at least dressed as a peasant I won't look foolish. Wait until you see dress rehearsals! I look ridiculous!"

He smiled at her, "I don't know about that. I had thought you would look rather like an angel in those wings. What ever is so ridiculous about it?"

"Clearly, you did not look at the entire costume! I do not believe most angels display such a great amount of décolletage. I told the seamstress I look indecent."

"Indecent, you say?" He got up out of the chair and began to trail his gloved hands along the top of her breasts, uncannily at the level of the bodice of the costume. "Who do you think demanded she lower the neckline?"

Gia playfully slapped his hands away, trying to ignore that his light touch made her chest and nipples tighten. "You beast, everyone is going to laugh!"

"I assure you Gia, the last thing they are going to do is laugh. If anything, I shall have to keep a close eye on you. Some man is sure to notice you, and I would hate to see him press his advantage over me."

"Erik, you know I'm not going to be interested in anyone."

"That does not mean men will not notice you."

"Then tell Madame Beaulieu to change the neckline again!" she said, exasperated with him.

He had sent a note to the wardrobe mistress demanding changes be made to the attendants costumes not long after coming across her old slave girl costume. He wanted to remind her that she was still a desirable woman. The costume had only been the start. She may have refused him when he suggested having a gown made, but now he was determined to see her in something more appropriate for her figure. He would pay a visit to a couturier tomorrow.

"Perhaps it pleases me to see you dressed that way," he finished as he made his way to the wardrobe. "Make no mistake Gia, I still want you."


	13. 13

**A/N: I have done my best to present an accurate representation of The Magic Flute in this chapter, but there may be some mistakes, so please forgive me. As always, thanks for the kind reviews. You guys keep me going when I get frustrated with myself.**

* * *

Gia had slept fitfully that night, her dreams filled with vision of Erik and Christine. She both feared and yearned to meet the woman who had captured his heart so thoroughly. Did she harbor similar feelings for him? Did she regret her ultimate decision to leave Erik and marry the young vicomte? What was Gia's greatest worry was what her own reaction would be if the answer to either of those questions was yes.

She already envied the woman for her talent and fashionable good looks without even meeting her. Now she would be forced to endure at least two hours of conversation with her and her handsome husband in the presence of Madame Giry and her daughter Meg. They would all be dressed in their finest feathers, and Gia would sit there garbed in an ugly black taffeta gown she had not worn since her mother's funeral. The girls would snicker about her clothes, and the vicomte would be bored to tears with her. If Gia was fortunate, they would all simply ignore her, which would only make her task of observation and recollection all the easier.

Undoubtedly Christine would prattle about her child, something else that brought out the green-eyed monster within Gia's female soul and the husband would look adoringly into her eyes. And the Giry family would bill and coo over them both. It was enough to make her nauseous. Jealousy was gnawing at her inside out, and she knew it. Christine was living the fairy tale existence that Gia has once foreseen for herself.

She should have accepted Erik's offer of a new gown. At least then she would not embarrass herself in front of the vicomtess. But no, she was too proud to take his charity, his pity! Damn her and her foolish conceit! Gianna could not even recall the last time she had indulged in a new gown. As it was, she was forever taking the dresses she did own to a discrete tailor where he would make the necessary repairs. The last time she had come in with her summer dress he had warned her that the fabric was growing too thin for any further work.

The sun was pouring through her small window, signaling that she had slept far later than usual. She quickly got out of bed, and began performing her morning ablutions. As she dried her face with a small towel, she looked at her face in the mirror, staring, trying to will her face to change. If she concentrated hard, her nose no longer turned up at the end, and her face and neck were slimmer. She critically noted her mouth was a shade too small and her forehead too high. Instead of the messy curls, they should fall in uniform undulating waves around her shoulders, or better still, her hair her could be flat and even. Gia then focused in on the rest of her body, and failed to see anything that Erik might find attractive. Everything about her was too big. What he wanted was a warm body to replace the one he had lost, and hers was the most available to him.

Her hands drifted down to her hips, and then she found herself slipping them under her nightgown, inching them toward her center. As her digits made contact with the hair at the apex of her thighs, she yanked her hands away, disgusted that she would even consider doing something expressly forbidden by God. However, she had never felt a need like this so acutely. Erik had awakened the sleeping giant of her passion and she feared that she would be unable to resist him much longer. If at that moment it were possible to turn time backwards she would have, if only to escape the waking nightmare her life had become.

In fact, Gia was so absorbed in her systematic self-destruction that she did not notice that Erik had left her a note on her end table. She was about to leave for Madame Giry's room when she noticed it resting neatly under her mother's rosary beads. She tore it open and in her haste, she ripped the envelope. The note on the card tersely reminded her to speak to Madame Giry at her earliest convenience and that since dress rehearsals would be starting he would not call on her again until just before the opening of _The Magic Flute_ unless there were any unforeseen difficulties. With the reassurance that Erik would be one less distraction, relief coursed through her. She could not relax entirely knowing that his watchful gaze would be on her during final rehearsals.

On her way to the ballet dormitories, she encountered Meg Giry and her mother who had been on their way to her room. Meg gaily laughed at the coincidence, then implored, "Mlle. Burnside, Maman and I were coming to try to convince you to come to dinner with us. Please, won't you come? It shall be such a jolly time. Christine and Raoul will be great fun."

It was hard to be stern around the young ballerina, and Gia said, "Then it should please you that I was coming to tell you that I had reconsidered. I was dreadfully rash last evening with your mother, most likely because I have not been sleeping well. I only hope that I am not too late."

"No, my child, you are not. In anticipation of your reversal I wrote this letter to the de Chagnys informing them we would, in fact be a party of five," the ballet mistress answered, brandishing her own note.

"You were certain I would change my mind?"

"Let us say, before I left last evening I had an excellent inkling as I left you might alter your perspective a bit after a good night's rest, " she said with a quick wink.

By God, the crafty woman had heard Erik in the wardrobe, and had deduced that he would require her attendance! She continued, "We are both looking forward to spending some time with you outside these walls. It shall be a most illuminating evening, I hope."

"As do I." On that note, both women withdrew, and Gia retuned to her chamber to spend most of the day ruminating on how to conduct herself for this dreaded repast.

* * *

The modiste's shop that Erik sought to patronize was far enough distance away from the Metropolitan that he waved down a hack a few blocks from the opera house. He had been here on several occasions before when he had been agonizing over the details of a wedding dress for Christine. Madame Collette was the proprietress of one of the most fashionable houses in Paris, and Erik was determined that she be responsible for Gianna's new gown. The carriage came to a sudden halt, and Erik paid the cabby without a word, shielding the right side of his face as much as possible as he alighted from the vehicle.

As he entered the dressmaker's establishment, he found the bright lamps jarring, and almost painful to his eyes. He winced slightly, the frowned when one of Madame Collette's assistants greeted him cheerily, "Good morning, monsieur. Welcome to Madame Collette's! How may I be of assistance?"

Eager to wipe the smile of her face, he snapped, "You can best be of help by fetching me your mistress immediately! I will not deal with anyone of your sort. Tell her Monsieur Erik is here, nothing more."

Startled and more than a bit alarmed at this masked gentleman, she hurried off without a word. A moment later a short plump woman with iron gray hair and hazel eyes emerged and greeted him warmly, "Monsieur Erik, it had been far too long! Please tell me you have come to place an order for your lovely bride. Am I to finally meet the woman I spent months sewing one dress for?"

"No Collette. Not today," he said attempting to keep his voice light. "However I am here to place an order that only you can fill. I need an exquisite dinner dress, and it must be completed before the week is out."

Instantly, the old woman's smile faded and her gaze narrowed. "Impossible. I have too many previous orders to fill."

"Nothing is impossible with the proper financial incentive," he returned smoothly.

"It will cost you," she paused, giving him the opportunity to withdraw. He gave a short nod indicating he was prepared to meet whatever she would charge him, and she continued, "Then come with me, and I shall show you the plates."

Erik took her arm, and together they went into her private salon where they could hold their conversation in private. She took a seat behind an elegant Louis XV secretaire, and began rifling through some drawers looking for the notes she had made on his previous commission. He sensed what she was doing, and he stopped her.

"Collette this gown is not for the same woman. Those measurements will do you no good."

Madame Collette gave no outward appearance of surprise. He would not be the first man whose wife and mistress wore her creations. But she would have thought that a man who had been so intimately involved in the process of creating a wedding dress would not be straying to other women so quickly. It was not her place to question him. Sometimes the happiest of matches often turned sour. Drawing out a pen and a sheet of paper, she turned to Erik and indicated that she was prepared to begin taking down the information.

Erik briskly gave the woman all necessary numbers which he had gleaned from examining Gia's dresses and shoes. As was her custom, she began quizzing her patron about the lady in question so she might have a better idea of what would best suit her. The measurements indicated a tall woman with wide hips and an impressive carriage. She would draw attention to the bosom to keep the focus away from the waist. With the correct corset, she would give the woman the hour-glass shape that was desired.

"Monsieur, how old is this woman? One dresses a mother and a mistress in entirely different ways," she inquired hoping to learn the identity of the person he was buying a dress for.

"She is in her middle twenties. And before you ask, she is not my wife or my mistress."

"A friend then? Men do not usually come to me to dress their friends. In fact, I cannot think of one man who has a female friend," she shrugged.

Erik would not discuss the subject any further, but over the course of a half hour together, they settled on an appropriate design. As down payment he gave Madame Collette a single 100 franc note, and he promised to return on Thursday for the complete order.

The first full dress rehearsal of _The Magic Flute_ began on Monday morning. Erik positioned himself in the manager's box in such a way that he had a complete view of the stage, but the cast members could not observe him. Dupoix had elected to observe from the stalls, so he was unconcerned with accidental discovery. This rehearsal would feature everyone in their assigned roles, it would not be until Wednesday that the understudies would have a run though. Today would be his first opportunity to see Gia in her lady in waiting costume.

To contrast with the Queen of Night whose costume was a deep violet dotted with golden stars, her handmaidens were arrayed in white Empire waisted tunics scattered with flecks of silver. Each wore a pair of short angel wings to add visual interest. Gia made her entrance from stage right, the last of the three attendants who she topped by nearly a half-foot. He could see peeking out from underneath the dress silver sandals as she glided across the stage, spear in hand. He had been correct, the high waistline and plunging neckline made her a feast for the eyes, and he became caught up in absorbing the way her chest would move as she breathed rather than the opera itself. As she stabbed at the snake, her chest heaved, and Erik noted that the tenor playing Tamino looked less terrified that he was about to be eaten and more hopeful that Gia would bend farther over to give him a better view.

The ladies in waiting figure fairly prominently in Act I, and Erik found himself looking forward to Gia's appearances on stage, and not just because of her costume. Her deeper voice provided an excellent counterpoint to the vocal heights of the Queen of Night. He should commend Reyer on his selection of her. Erik made a mental note to mention that in his next communiqué to Dupoix he should mention it. The nervous old man deserved a raise.

Closing his eyes to better concentrate, he let the music flow through his veins, and until the break for lunch he let go of all his animosity toward the world. He forgot about his plans to seduce Gianna with open-mouthed kisses and soft caresses, and drifted away on a sea of sound. His plans could wait until later, they would keep.

* * *

The day of the gala dawned unseasonably warm, it seemed that Spring was determined to assert herself after all and banish Winter for another year. The trees were budding, and soon the Bois de Boulogne would be a bursting with fountains of flowers. Gianna could not help frowning, the taffeta would probably be far too heavy this evening, but it was the best she had. If the vicomtess and her husband were offended by perspiration they would simply have to deal with it, she thought.

As was the custom of the Metropolitan, there would be no rehearsals the day of the premiere. For a place that was so often filled with the music of the opera, or at least the sounds of all the hustle and bustle endemic to such a place, it was strangely, and almost unsettlingly silent. Gia had not been this nervous about a performance in years. She hated to think what might happen if he was displeased. But then again, he must be somewhat satisfied, or he would have let us know it. Aside from Adrienne Leveau uncharacteristically missing part of the final rehearsal, the week had gone well. The notoriously gruff Reyer had even complimented her on being so well prepared to step into Adrienne's shoes. She made her entrance just before Act II, ranting that she was late because her dressmaker had not finished her gown for the gala following the performance.

Deciding to take advantage of the weather, Gia went out for a walk, enjoying the blue sky and the sound of birds singing merrily. If they were facing a dinner with the de Chagnys and the Girys they would not be nearly so cheerful. Still, it was a lovely day, and she was determined to enjoy it as much as possible. As infuriated as she was with Erik for insisting she attend this farce, she had found herself missing his presence. She and her mother had often had many long talks about the operas and whether rehearsals were proceeding as planned, and Erik had given that small joy back to her.

Throughout this week, she had found herself speculating as to where he was watching them from and she could picture him making a running commentary on the events of the opera. Once she even had to suppress a giggle when she clearly heard him in her head complaining about the length of one of the Queen of Night's arias, "I wish that woman would stop her caterwauling! What was Mozart thinking when he wrote this damn thing?" One of the ladies in waiting had seen her grin, and later asked her what she had found so amusing. Her response had been a rather sarcastic, "Well, this is a comic opera after all. No one dies you know. How often does that happen?" The words could have as easily sprung from his mouth as hers.

The walk was invigorating, and Gia paused at a bakery near the Metropolitan where she splurged on an éclair that would no doubt go straight to her waistline. She let out a small moan as she bit into it, savoring the filling laden with butter, cream, and vanilla and the rich chocolate topping that melted on her tongue. That damned costume would be even tighter. Maybe if she got fatter she wouldn't have to wear it. Her mother would have only taken a couple bites, then thrown it into the nearest dustbin, but Gia ate the entire confection anyway. It was too expensive to waste.

She quickened her pace as it was afternoon, and soon she would have to report to the dressing rooms. Before she did so, she wanted to make a stop in her room, just in case Erik had left a note for her. She found a note and far more awaiting her in her bedroom. Carefully placed on the center of the bed were three boxes of varying sizes each stamped with the figure of a pink dove. That could only mean that the boxes came from the dressmaker Madame Collette, as that was her trademark. Erik had also left her another bunch of tulips, red this time, tied with a black ribbon and a note:

_Gianna, _

_Wear these with my compliments. I know you will be hesitant, but you do not want to look a fool in front of Madame la Victomtess de Chagny and her husband. I took the liberty of choosing each item personally for you. I shall await you this evening, and I look forward to our meeting with pleasure. We have been apart too long,_

_Erik._

Gia set the note and the flowers aside, and opened the smallest box which contained a new pair of black dress shoes. The heel was higher than she would have chosen for herself, but the new leather gleamed, and she could only think of what an improvement they would be over her worn pair. Moving on to the largest box, she audibly sighed at the dress inside. It was fashioned from yards of cranberry colored silk faille with just the merest hint of pink to it. The color would bring out the red highlights of her hair and make her eyes stand out. The bodice was embellished with lavish amounts of black lace along the cap sleeves. It was cut low over breasts in a v-shape, but it was not so low as to be inappropriate. She pulled out the skirt which was fairly simple, with no detailing to speak of. There was however, a great deal of gathering and draping at the bustle, and if she did not want the dress to be spoiled, she must hang it immediately. There was also a matching set of opera length gloves and a shawl to keep out the chill of the evening.

The last box puzzled her. What else could he have possibly chosen for her? She thought a moment and then gasped, "No, he wouldn't dare! He couldn't possibly know!" as she gingerly lifted the lid. The box contained all new foundation garments: a chemise, a petticoat, and a pair of drawers, all in black silk. There was even a new corset, also in black, and she could tell from the construction it was designed to suck her waist in and push her chest out. There was even a black lace garter belt, matching garters, and gossamer black stockings.

It was all very tasteful and simultaneously shocking. He had thought of her as he chose these? She was not worthy of such clothes. She could not do justice to them. They were for an exciting sensual woman, which she was not. A wicked voice inside her head whispered, "But for one night, you can be."

For once, she would listen to that voice. For one evening, she would play the role of a lifetime and set aside her insecurities and emotional baggage. She would exude confidence from every pore and entertain the group with scintillating conversation, all the while tucking information away to report to Erik. All these years of acting would finally be put to good use. And when that night was over, she would carefully wrap the dress and all its accoutrements up, and return them to him.


	14. 14

The audience burst into wild applause as the curtain drew closed at the end of _The Magic Flute_. There had been no major gaffes, and with the much improved ballet, the reviews were sure to be kind, Gia reflected. She took her bow with the rest of the cast, then made her way back to the dressing room so she could change for dinner. She had purposely made sure she was the last chorus member to enter the dressing room before the performance, knowing that with the other women focused on themselves, they would not notice the boxes she was carrying. She wanted to put off the inevitable questions about the contents or how she had afforded them as long as possible.

When she entered the dressing room, it was too late. The nosy Adrienne Leveau was already rifling through them and making comments for all to hear.

"Would you look at these?" she said as she held up in one hand the black silk drawers and the other the garter belt, "It would seem the ice queen is not as pure as we all thought!" This elicited a few titters from the other women, and now that she was sure she had their undivided attention, Adrienne took the dress out. "Look ladies, it isn't black! Someone may actually even be able to glimpse some skin if she wears it."

"Are you finished, Adrienne? I'd like to dress now, I have a dinner engagement to keep," Gia said, keeping her voice even. She wanted to defuse the situation as quickly and quietly as possible.

She lead mezzo snorted derisively, "You? Have a dinner engagement? With whom pray tell? I'd wager a month's salary it was with whoever gave you this," she said gesturing to the boxes. "I've waited a long time to see you knocked off that high horse you've been on all these years, looking down at those of us who have men willing to pay to share our company. I can't wait to meet the sort of gentleman who'd be willing to pay for the favors of an old, fat has-been chorus girl such as yourself. Then I'll take him from you."

Gia's eyes glazed over coldly as she made her way over to her station. Without saying a word, she plucked the dress away from the tight grasp of Mlle. Leveau, and laid it back carefully in the box. That accomplished, she turned to face the young woman, unwilling to allow her insults to pass without comment. "For your information, I am dining with the vicomte and vicomtess de Chagny and the Girys. I was particularly invited by the vicomtess herself. The dress was a gift from her," she lied, hoping the chorus girls would believe that.

Adrienne visibly blanched, but undeterred she continued, "A woman bought you all this? I had not heard Christine de Chagny had such disgusting predilections. At least that explains why you have avoided men all these years."

Oh God, she had moved from one mess to another! She could not let needless slander be spread about the vicomtess. Erik would be sure to hear of it, and blame her for her stupidity. "Fine, then, you caught me in a lie," she said as Adrienne looked on triumphantly, "The dress was a gift from a gentleman, but he is only a friend. I was not lying about dinner with the de Chagnys however. Now, if you will excuse me, I must hurry or I shall delay our party, and I do believe we have reservations within the hour."

"In my experience, men do not give lingerie to women they are friends with," snapped Adrienne, determined to cut Gia as deeply as possible.

Gia simply enigmatically smiled, and riposted with, "I do realize your experience is far greater than my own, my dear, but I cannot believe that in addition to your reported vast knowledge of men, you have recently attained the ability to read minds." That set the diva off in a huff, and she retreated to her station to remove her costume. With her gone, Gia began to do the same, and the rest of the women became once again absorbed in themselves rather than her and Adrienne.

She asked the girl sitting at the next station to help her remove the ridiculous angel wings so she could sit down and remove her makeup. If she didn't take it off before she hung up the costume, she would ruin it. As tempting as it was, she did not want a scolding from the wardrobe mistress for shoddy treatment of her work. That accomplished, she slipped behind a screen to take off the white dress, and put on the foundation garments that went with the new dress. The silk drawers, chemise, and stockings felt sensuous against her skin, and over these she put on the corset. It immediately brought her waist in and thrust her breasts up, giving her a great deal of cleavage. She was surprised to find she could still breathe rather well, and if anything, this garment was more comfortable than her own. Over this, she put on an old cotton dressing gown, then she sat down at her small table before the mirror so she could arrange her hair.

Her unruly curls rarely behaved, and Gia struggled for several minutes to twist her hair into a chignon which she secured with more hairpins than necessary. Now that her face was blessedly free of the heavy stage make-up she carefully applied a bit of rouge to the apples of her cheeks and chose a fairly sheer color of lip rouge. Satisfied that her face was as presentable as possible, she moved back behind the screen to finish donning the dress. Madame Collette had done a magnificent job, in addition to the beauty of the gown, it had been designed with the knowledge the wearer did not have a ladies maid to assist her, so the bustle was mercifully kept more understated. All of the closures for the bodice were in the front, and Gia found herself dressed swifter than she imagined.

Stepping out from behind the screen, she got a look at herself in the small mirror. She looked elegant and understated, even with her chest swelling up meet the lace edging of the neckline.

"Why Mlle. Burnside, you almost look pretty in that dress! I suppose what they say about Madame Collette _is _true," came Adrienne's voice from across the room.

"And what is that, Adrienne?" asked Gia dryly.

"She could even make a ugly woman the center of attention in one of her dresses," she said cruelly.

Unwilling to dignify that remark with a reply, Gia took one last look at herself in the glass, put a smile on her face, and walked out of the dressing room, past Adrienne Leveau without a word. She could do this. She would make it through this dinner with her dignity intact and then she would see Erik and find a way to end their association.

Waiting for her on the other side of the door was Meg Giry, wearing a rose gown with white detailing. Gia heard her sharp intake of breath as she saw her emerge from the room.

"The rumors are true! The theater is positively buzzing with the news that Mlle. Gianna Burnside was given an outrageously beautiful and expensive gown, complete with _undergarments_. Is it true you have a wealthy lover?" she inquired eagerly.

"Meg, when will you learn not to believe everything you hear in this place? This dress was merely a gift from a friend! I do not have a lover, and I have no intention of taking one. We must be off, I imagine we are keeping your mother and the de Chagnys waiting," she scolded the young woman.

"Oh, let them wait! Christine is going to be green with envy when she sees you!" she exclaimed as she walked around Gianna, taking the whole dress in. "That color is perfect for you. Your 'friend' has excellent taste in clothes."

That he does, thought Gianna silently. She took Meg by the arm firmly, and together they made their way to the foyer of the opera house where Madame Giry and Christine were waiting for them. Giry looked most dignified in the plum colored gown and the vicomtess had chosen a dress in emerald green. Her neck sparkled with a diamond necklace that had been in the Chagny family for over one hundred years. Gia found herself dismayed that she looked exactly the same as she did in the sketches in Erik's home, he had not exaggerated her beauty in the slightest. Her waist was so small it was difficult to believe she had ever had a child.

"You must be Mlle. Burnside! I have heard so much about you from Madame Giry and Meg. That was you playing one of ladies in waiting to the Queen of Night, correct?" Christine said by way of a friendly greeting. She then walked over to Gianna who began to make a curtsey, but the young woman stopped her.

"Come, come, there's no need for that. Raoul and I don't stand much on ceremony. Please call me Christine! I really despise always being referred to as Madame la Victomtess," she said, the last words spoken in an intimation of an aristocratic snob. "It's the one thing I really can't get used to."

"If you insist Madame, I mean, Christine. And to answer your previous question, yes that was I playing one of the handmaidens. It's all rather ridiculous, someone of my age in that role, but we do not often get to choose the parts we play."

Christine suddenly had a far away look in her eyes, as though she was recalling something from the distant past and added looking rather uncomfortable, "I know that all too well, Mlle. Burnside."

Remembering her vow to be as pleasant as possible, Gia hastily said, "Since you have given me leave to address you by your first name, you may call me by my given name, Gianna, although nearly all my friends call me Gia. I should be most content to count you among that number," she lied.

That comment brought a smile to the young bride's lips and she held out her hand in a gesture of friendship. Gia took it, and shook it firmly and returned the smile. Not letting go of her hand, Christine gave it a playful tug and said, "Let's go wait for the carriage outside, Raoul should be just a moment fetching it."

No sooner had the small group of women stepped outdoors than a large open carriage pulled up bearing the crest of the de Chagny family. Raoul was seated in the carriage wearing formal black tails and white tie, his hair drawn back into a queue. Gia had never seen him before, and her first thought was that he reminded her of the man she once envisioned as Prince Charming. He was certainly very handsome, almost pretty in a way, and very different from Erik. At the sight of his wife, he stood up, not even giving the footman the opportunity to open the door for her.

Once the ladies were seated, Raoul addressed them, "I shall surely be the most envied man in Paris this evening surrounded by four such lovely ladies!"

At the unexpected compliment, Gia blushed, and he said, "What's this, a humble opera singer? I look to be amazed! I didn't realize there existed such an exotic creature."

Playing along, she teased the young man, "Are you implying Monsieur le Vicomte that your wife is not humble? Or that she is not a rare creature?"

"My dear Mlle. Burnside, I regret that I am unable to answer that, as anything I say will only get me into trouble," laughed the young man as his wife gave him a mock exasperated look by placing her hands on her hips as she looked at him.

"Do not mind him Gia! He's just another example of what happens when first cousins marry," she returned humorously.

"Why you, you impudent wench!" he choked out, surprised she would say such a thing in front of a virtual stranger. But then he stared into her warm brown eyes, and before he knew it he placed a light kiss on her lips, all forgiven in an instant.

Gia looked on the scene doing her best not to look envious openly. She had only been with them ten minutes and she could see they only had eyes for each other. Breaking them apart would be well-nigh impossible and probably could not be done without violence. These two shared a deep bond, perhaps it was born of their child, but Gia would wager it had been present long before that.

For the rest of the carriage ride, the five of them conversed about that night's performance and whether it would be well received by the critics. All seemed to be in agreement that it should be. Even Madame Giry had no complaints about the corps de ballet. Both Raoul and Christine, as they insisted on being called, complimented Gia on her fine work and said they hoped she be given a more prominent role in the next production.

"I thank you both, but I doubt that will happen. There are few roles for mezzos as it is, and Adrienne Leveau is the principal. I am content to be her understudy. There is always the chance she will refuse to perform one night, perhaps to run off with one of her gentleman," she shared, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

"Oh you must tell us all about her! It's so long since I've had any good opera gossip. I think that is what I miss most from my old life. That and my good friends," she concluded, clasping the hands of both Giry and her daughter, as the carriage came to a stop at the restaurant.

The party was shown to an excellent table, and Raoul insisted that Gia sit at the head of the table. "You are our guest of honor, and besides, now I can sit next to my wife and we can play with each other's feet when we think no one is paying attention."

Madame Giry had not exaggerated that Raoul was a most amiable man. He seemed not to have a care in the world as long as Christine was by his side. Looking to start another conversation, Gia looked around the table and noticed now that the ladies had all removed their gloves that Christine did not wear an engagement ring, only a gold wedding band. "Christine, you must tell me why you do not wear an engagement ring! Don't tell me your husband had not the wherewithal to provide you with one!" she inquired keeping her voice light as possible.

Silence fell over the table, and realized she had made a terrible blunder. No doubt Erik was involved in this somehow. Christine's eyes misted slightly, and she said simply, "I lost it in a good cause."

"Forgive me, Christine, I was only trying to make conversation. I'm afraid I'm rather out of practice. I don't often have anyone to talk to since I live alone now."

"We shall give you plenty of practice then. Tell me all about the Metropolitan! I had never been there before this evening. Is it true you have lived there your entire life?"

With that entry, Gia spent a good portion of dinner regaling the group with the history of the opera house and a brief explanation of her own history. Glad for the opportunity to correct some of the inaccuracies present in the rumors that flew about her, she told them that although she had wanted to be a ballerina, she had realized by fourteen it was a rather fruitless dream.

"I was growing so rapidly it was making my mother crazy because my clothes never fit properly. She never forced me to begin singing as so many seem to believe. It was my choice. She would have let me become a teacher or perhaps a governess if I had wanted to. I told her I would rather stay with her at the Metropolitan. She was not the ogre the gossips often make her out to be. All she ever wanted was the best for me.

When it happened that my voice would not allow me to be a true diva, she was crushed because I would never have the chance to have all the experiences she did. Those tales about her wanting to throw the success of her child back at my father are, as far as I know, false."

Over the dinner's course, Gia recounted some of the more humorous incidents that had taken place over the years, and she had the table nearly in tears on more than one occasion. Only Madame Giry was suspicious. Gia was normally very quiet and kept to herself. She had been sure that it would have taken some prodding to get the girl to come out of her shell. But here she was telling stories and entertaining everyone as if she was like those ladies who hosted fashionable salons. She looked to be having a delightful time.

It could be the dress's doing. Gianna looked marvelous, and Giry had noted that several men had given her admiring looks as she had come into the restaurant and the women were whispering about the gown itself. No doubt that dress was a gift from Erik. How he had gotten her to wear it, she had to discover. When Gia excused herself to go to the powder room, Madame Giry followed close on her heels.

Thrilled that the powder room was empty, Gia let out a sign of relief. Dinner was nearly over, and she had managed not to make any blunders since her mention of the engagement ring. She had skillfully manipulated the conversation to learn bits and pieces of the life the de Chagnys shared together. They doted on their small child, and though Christine was enjoying the trip to Paris she could not wait to see Philippe again. He would be the couple's greatest weakness, and she feared what Erik might do to exploit it. Thankfully, the evening would be over soon, and all that would be left was dealing with Erik. More than ever, she was determined that she would break free of him.

Grudgingly, she had to admit, she liked Raoul and even Christine. She was still very much a child despite all that happened to her in the past. There was a certain sweetness of character and naïveté about her that she could understand why a man could be obsessed with her. But her eyes were only for her husband and Erik had to understand that. Gia did not look forward to being the messenger of such ill tidings.

The door swung open behind her and Madame Giry sidled up next to her, reaching into her reticule to fish out a small compact. As she dabbed some face powder on she said, "You have made a most favorable impression Gia. I believe Christine is quite taken with you."

"I am doing my best to be sociable. Is that a problem?" she added defensively.

"No, I am very happy to see you enjoying yourself, but I cannot be sure this is just another elaborate façade. I know you are only here because Erik wanted it, and that dress of yours is only something he could have provided. The entire opera house is already buzzing that your 'friend' provided you with everything from the dress to silk stockings. Why did you wear it? To please him?" she asked honestly.

"I wore it because I thought it would help me get though this evening. For one night I wanted to at least look like a confident woman. When we return to the opera house, I shall pack everything away and return it to him," Gia replied.

"That would not be wise, my child. You know Erik does not take rejection well."

"Nevertheless, I will not make myself in debt to him. I do not need this any longer. This costume has served its purpose."

Giry said nothing in response. Gianna was a stubborn woman, and she would be the one to bear the brunt of his wrath when she tried to give it back. Warning her at this point would be pointless, all she could do was pray that neither hurt the other as they struggled for control of their relationship. The two women left the powder room together, and sat down to enjoy coffee and dessert.

Supper drew to a close shortly thereafter and they all traveled back to the Metropolitan in Raoul's carriage. The lights in the building were nearly all out make the structure look almost forbidding. Gia watched as Madame Giry and Meg made their farewells, and found her stomach tied in knots, knowing what was to come in the coming hours. Christine then took Gia aside and told her that Gia must write her and let her know if she needed anything.

"As one orphan to another, I know the loneliness that can come from being in a place like this. There were times I felt so alone that I spent hours in the chapel of the Populaire singing to a man I believed to be the spirit of my father I realize you are too wise for such foolishness, but do not hesitate to write me. No one should ever feel that way."

Gia felt consumed by terrible guilt at what she was about to do. She was going to place the life of this young woman and her husband in jeopardy all because she was not strong enough to make a life outside the walls of the Metropolitan. She promised to write, knowing that to be a falsehood, then bid her good evening.

Making her way through the silent dark hallways, first she went to the dressing room to fetch the few items she had left there, including the three boxes. The flights of stairs to her chamber had never seemed so steep as they did that evening. Each step brought her closer to Erik, and when she reached the final landing Gia took a deep breath and asked God to give her strength.

The door to her room loomed heavy in the darkness, and she pushed the door open gingerly. He was waiting for her, sprawled out on her bed, and for the first time she noted he was not wearing his tie or a waistcoat. Visible was a small triangle of flesh on his chest, and she could see a smattering of dark hairs. He made no move to rise as she entered the room or attempted to be of assistance to her.

"You are late my dear. I had not expected you would tarry so long. Now, let us be off, I want to discuss this in private," he said firmly.

"Erik, this place is private. No one will come here to disturb us."

"Can you be so sure? I imagine that dress has set more than a few idle tongues wagging. I would not be shocked if someone decided to listen outside your door to see if you had any visitors this night."

Ruefully, she had to agree with him. Adrienne would be just the sort to listen at keyholes to try to gain damaging information about her. Sighing, she held out her hand automatically, knowing he would slip the mask into it. He did so, and she put it on, then held out her hand to be led down once more. He subtly caressed her hand though the silk of her glove throughout the journey sending small shivers of pleasure down her spine. Having made the trip on three other occasions, she had timed it almost perfectly and did not need to be told when they were in sight of his home.

This time when she drew the mask off, the lakeside lair looked different. He had moved aside the red and gold curtain, revealing his bed chamber. There was a large bed with wrought iron head and footboards. The bedclothes were of ivory silk, and conspicuously turned down, waiting to be slipped into. Next to it was a full length mirror with a silver frame.

"Erik, what is the meaning of this? I thought we were going to talk. Don't you want to discuss the performance? Or at least hear about Christine?" she asked, her voice pleading with him.

"We can talk later Gianna. Now is not the time for words." His mouth came down on hers in a bruising kiss, and she met him head on, kissing him back. Their tongues slipped along each other, exploring, tasting and probing. Gianna's hands wandered across his collarbone, her touch light and unsure. His wandered down her back, and she could feel him loosening the tapes that attached the skirt to the bodice. Not ready to give up so easily, she pushed him away, and he could only chuckle.

"You know, you are a vision in that dress. I'd wager every man who saw you fantasized about having you stand before him like this, mouth damp from his kisses, and waiting to be ravished," he said in that seductive tone he used so well. "Don't be coy now, we both want this. There is no shame in two adults wanting each other. I want to know you in the most intimate way a man can know a woman. I don't care about ten years ago, I only care that just looking at you standing there makes my cock hard."

His harsh erotic words made her short of breath. She was hot and now she could barely find the strength to stand. God had obviously been busy when she implored for His assistance earlier. She had to make him face the fact that he didn't really want her. He couldn't. She had not hoped it would come to this, but the moment had arrived, and even knowing how painful the sting of his inevitable rejection would be, she would do it anyway. She would humiliate herself in front of him, at least that would bring him a small amount of pleasure.

Gia began by drawing off her gloves one at a time and setting them down on a nearby settee. That accomplished, she began loosening the skirt and bodice.

Erik moved forward to assist her, almost unbelieving what she was doing. She was undressing before his eyes. "Gia, let me help you, I want to help you. This is something we should savor together," his voice low.

"No Erik, I want to do this myself. I want to show you what lies beneath all this finery. If this is what I must do to show you that I am a poor substitute for the woman you love, I will. I have just spent three hours with her, and I am keenly aware of my shortcomings compared to her." And with that, Gia's skirt and petticoat fell to the floor in a heap. The bodice quickly followed, leaving her standing there, her arms bare with the full length of her legs exposed to his gaze.

This could not be happening, he thought, she was taking control away from him by doing this. He stared as she undid the corset and tossed it onto the pile of clothes. As she bent over to undo the stockings, he turned away, unwilling to watch her because it was clear she was not doing this to please him or herself. She was so convinced of her unworthiness she was willing to lay herself nude before him if that would hinder his desire.

With his back turned, he could hear the last few items of clothing come off. His whole body was shaking, and his erection was straining against the broadcloth of his trousers.

Her voice trembling, she spoke, "Look at me, Erik. Look at me, and see if you can still tell me truthfully this is what you want."


	15. 15

**A/N: Alrighty then, this chapter is most definitely rated R. And I promise, no cliffhanger to speak of this time around! I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, so I shall be looking forward to your comments. As always, much love to interminablesadness my beta. Get some rest, woman!**

* * *

How long had Erik waited for this moment? To have a woman naked before him was something he had only experienced in his dreams up until now. All of the erotic literature and manuals in the world could not have prepared him for this. He knew he had to turn around to face her, but for some odd reason he was frightened. If he did not do it quickly she might assume he was rejecting her, and leave him. He glanced down at the front of his trousers. They were tented, and when he turned she would see the evidence of his desire. He could only hope it would not disgust her.

Erik shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he moved to look at her. Strangely, he did not notice her nudity at first, only the fact that she was shaking from the chill in the air. She had unbound her hair, tossing the pins God knew where, and the curling mass fell over her shoulders and down her back. If he had thought her an intoxicating vision in the dress he had chosen for her, capable of arousing a man by just looking at her; naked her body was capable of reducing a man to nothing but his most base emotions. She stood there, stock still, the candlelight flickering and creating tiny shadows on her skin.

Her skin. There was just so much of it to take in all at once. He began by looking down, and traveled upward, from her feet, traveling up the length of her legs, past her hips, her waist, and then finally her chest. Her calves were curved and soared into voluptuous but firm thighs that just barely touched. Erik could picture his hands gripping her hips as he delved into what lay between them. He wanted to dip his tongue into her navel which lay at the center of her waist. And then lastly there were her breasts, high, round, and full, topped with dusky rose-colored nipples, already standing at attention from the cold.

"Look at me Gia," he said, echoing her words. "Look at the front of my pants. I very much want you."

She did not want to look down. She had been so certain that he would either not turn around or would look away after getting a glimpse of her. Instead his intense eyes had drunk in her entire frame and changed color from grey-blue to green-gold. She dragged her eyes away from his face and did as he bid her, and looked at the place between his legs. The light in the room was not very good, but she could see the outline of his arousal pressed there. Although Gia had never seen a man naked, except in paintings and sculptures in museums, it struck her that Erik looked to be larger than anything she had ever seen. A lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow to clear it, but found her mouth had gone dry.

Her mind seemed to be incapable of forming words, or even thoughts. Her instinct was to go to him, and open those trousers and see exactly what he looked like beneath them. To take him into her hand, to touch the very thing that made him a man. But she was frozen on the spot, unable to make a move. He did it for her.

Erik removed his black leather gloves as he contemplated the best course of action. He had seen her eyes widen with interest as she looked at him. Her lips were slightly parted, her tongue just visible to him. She had to see herself, see that she was every inch a woman. He took her by the wrist, and walked her over to his mirror, taking position behind her.

Seeing what he was about, Gianna screwed her eyes closed; she would not look upon her naked body in that mirror. His breath was coming in hot gasps against her ear, and she could feel his fully clothed body against her skin. The wool of his trousers was slightly scratchy against her bottom, and she did not want to think about what she could feel against the small of her back. Suddenly she felt both of his hands on her, one traveling down her neck, the other coming around her right hip and sliding up towards her chest. By putting pressure on the left side of her neck with his hand, she turned her head to the right and into his mouth.

Erik kissed her jaw line, her nose, and finally on her eyes. At that, they opened wide, and he could see lurking in the stormy blue of her gaze were golden flecks that reminded him of leaves on a pond in autumn.

"Look at yourself in the mirror, Gia. Look at the picture we make," he drawled. Resigned that he would persist until she complied, Gia opened her eyes, and saw herself for the first time. He brought both his hands up to gently cup the underside of her breasts, his touch almost maddeningly light. She watched him stroke her, teasing her nipples, all the while wishing for more contact. The sensations he was creating threatened to overwhelm her, and once again she closed her eyes.

"No, no my dear, keep your eyes open. I want you to see what I'm doing to you. Look at how you respond to me. You want more, don't you? Tell me you want more, and I will give it to you," he whispered against her cheek, all the while continuing to allow his fingers play along her chest. She opened her eyes once more, and he pinched her right nipple, sending a dart of desire directly to her core.

God help her, she wanted this. She wanted him. She had to have all of him and soon, or she feared she would die from the wanting. Pushing her fears and doubts aside, Gianna leaned back into his broad chest, moaning, "Please Erik, give me more," his name like a prayer on her lips. He slowly began to knead her breasts, and drop sucking kisses along her neck, mumbling against her skin, "Is that enough Gia?"

"More Erik."

He spun her in his arms, so she now could look at him directly, their bodies pressed together intimately. Their mouths met once more, and he nibbled on her lower lip before invading her mouth with his tongue. Clothes, he thought, he was wearing far too many clothes. Already she was pulling at his shirt, attempting to extricate it from his pants. He was loathe to break contact, but he did so in order to shrug out of his jacket and then take off the white lawn shirt.

Erik had the upper body of an ancient Greek statute, the muscles in his abdomen firm and tight, his arms defined and muscular. Dark hair was scattered all over his chest, with a few grey hairs among them. Gia noted that like her, his nipples were hard and erect. Would her touch have the same effect as his? She reached for him and drew circles around one nipple using her right index finger. This time he was the one to close his eyes and moan.

To regain control, he grabbed her shoulders and crushed her to his chest, his hair tickling her. She could feel his arousal between them, and with eager hands Gia began to try to unfasten his trousers. She wanted to be with him skin against skin, nothing between them, not even the air. But her hands were not used to the closures, and she was not very successful, only becoming more frustrated.

"Let me help you," he said with a smile, his mouth curving into one of his patented half grins. He effortlessly popped the top button, then began to draw the trousers down. Gia could not look away, and they fell around his ankles, revealing his masculinity to her hot gaze. How it would ever fit inside her, she could not imagine. As a girl, she had giggled whenever there were nude men in paintings, and her mother had chided her not to look so silly in public. At the time, Gia had found the male anatomy rather humorous, but now looking at Erik she found it beautiful and could only look on it in appreciation.

To divest himself of all his clothing he kicked aside his pants, and then removed his socks and shoes. The only thing left was his mask.

"Please Erik, take it off. I want to see all of you," she said softly, almost inaudibly.

"No, it will only upset you."

"I will be more upset if you do not. I am standing before you naked, nothing to shield me. You use that mask like a shield to keep yourself at a distance from the world. I want there to be no distance between us if we are going to do this. Take it off, or I will leave," she concluded.

He briefly contemplated denying her, to see if she would carry out her threat, but he could not bear the thought of her going after they had come so far. Reluctantly, he took it off, along with the wig, and patiently waited for her to begin screaming hysterically.

"Oh Erik, you are so beautiful, it almost hurts my eyes to look at you," came her voice, husky with want. She pushed him in front of the mirror, and she began running one hand along the ridge the right side of his face, feeling the red and mottled skin. She touched his nose, his brow lovingly, not once shuddering. She titled her head up and began to kiss his face, lingering over the spots he thought would horrify her. Gianna wrapped her hands around his broad back, pressing herself against him, not caring about the scar tissue she could feel on her front, and ran her hands down along his chest. Before long her right hand began to drift down towards, what did he call it, his cock?

Unsure of exactly what to do, but certain she had to touch him, she lightly ran the palm of her hand along the underside of him, which elicited an appreciative moan. Feeling more confident, she wrapped her hand around him, and began to stroke him, all the while watching his reactions in the mirror.

The moment Erik realized that she was about to take him into her hands, he had closed his eyes, unbelieving that this could be happening to him. She was not frightened of him, the only emotion in her eyes was passionate desire. She accepted him for what he was, and did not seem to care his right side was not handsome like his left. She had even called him beautiful. He had thought that he would be the one to seduce and ravish, and here he was being seduced and ravished by a woman whose experience with passion was nearly as limited as his own. As pleasurable as her untutored touch was, if she did not cease her exquisite torture, he would come in her hands instead of inside her.

His voice ragged, he begged her, "You must stop that Gia before I can't contain myself. I want us to climax together in bed. In my bed," putting emphasis on those last three words. He brought his hand down that had been clutching at the back of her thigh to stop her stroking one, and began to guide her toward the bed.

The first thing she felt was the kiss of silk against the backs of her legs as he maneuvered her onto the bed. Gia sat down, then gingerly lay back against the pillows, not certain what to expect next. Erik eased himself down on top of her, using his powerful arms to brace himself at her sides. He had noticed she liked it best when he nuzzled a spot on her neck, just below her ear so he planted a kiss there first and began making his way down. He wanted to go slowly and gently but she was squirming beneath him, her hips already pushing against his. Unable to wait any longer, he brought his mouth to her right breast and begun to suck it while he caressed the other.

Assaulted by pleasure, Gia arched her back and threw her head back. How was it possible to feel this wonderful and not die? Perhaps she would after all. Her heart was racing, and a fine perspiration had erupted on both of them. She could feel pressure building deep within her, just like the dream she had. Desperate for release, she groaned into Erik's ear and wrapped her hands around his shoulders, as he toyed with her nipple using his facile tongue.

Her skin tasted salty from the sweat, and Erik found himself lapping it up with his tongue. He had moved on to her other breast not wanting to deny it the same attention as the other. His right hand slid into the hollow of her waist then down to meet her hip. Before he thrust inside her, he wanted to be sure she was ready to receive him. From his reading, he knew she should be moist as it would ease his passage. He drew his hand through her curls, but the moment he touched her, she became skittish.

"Erik, please don't touch me there, I'm all wet. You will get it on your hands," she said seriously.

"My darling, a woman is supposed to become wet if the man is doing things properly." At that, he slid a single thick finger inside her and continued, "And from the feel of you, it would seem I'm doing something correctly."

She was gripped so tightly around his finger, he shuddered at what she would feel like around the most sensitive part of him. Wanting to feel her climax he slid in another digit and used his thumb to caress the small bundle of nerves between her thighs. Immediately Gia began to thrash beneath him, panting, and keening for release. He felt her inner muscles spasm around his hand, and Erik discovered the act of bringing her to release made him even more aroused.

He also realized that his fingers had been brushing up against an inner barrier. That made no sense, Gianna wasn't a virgin. He sat back on his haunches a moment, and she looked up at him, puzzled.

"Is something wrong?"

"Gia, I think you're still a virgin. I felt something inside you. Are you sure he penetrated you?" He thought about how she had described the rape, and although Gia said she felt him put something inside her, it was possible he hadn't had time to complete the act.

"You told me he ruined your skirt, yes?"

"Yes," she nodded, hoping that he would resume his earlier ministrations. If he rejected her now, she would die. All she cared about was feeling him on top of her and doing something, anything to ease the fierce need that one orgasm had not abated.

"It's possible he never was actually inside you, and if we stop now, you can remain a virgin. But if we go any further, I may be unable to stop myself if you say no. Make your choice Gia: do we take this all the way, or do we stop here, at this moment? I will take you home if you like." At that moment, he prayed to the God he had long since stopped believing in that she did not choose the latter.

Her response was to push herself up with one hand, and use the other to stroke his face and murmured, "Erik, I don't want to wait any longer. I need you."

He collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the pillows, ecstatic she didn't want to stop. He took her mouth in a searing kiss and he used his legs to urge her to open her legs wider. Gia understood what he wanted, and did her best to assist him. She could feel something slipping inside her entrance, to urge him on she started to shift her hips, and she heard a growl erupt from deep within his chest as he sunk into her velvet softness.

For a moment, there was pain, and a tear fell from the corner of her eye. Erik saw it, and knowing what it meant to her, what a gift she was giving him, he kissed it away, and asked her, "Are you all right?" Gia nodded amazed he could be so calm. The pain was rapidly fading, and in its place all that remained was a throbbing fullness. She could feel his heart hammering against her chest, and she wondered again if it was possible for two people to die doing this.

Christ, she was tight! His body was on fire, and he could only think about driving in and out of her softness until he exploded, but he didn't want to hurt her. He eased back slowly, then surged forward, groaning at the sensation. Her hips rocked to meet his, and she brought her arms around his neck as he began to ride her. Both quickly became lost in each other, he was driving her higher and higher, and her cries of delight were the most erotic music he had ever heard. Anxious to please her, he hitched her legs over his shoulders to get greater penetration. Mindless now, Gia could only clutch at the headboard and use it for leverage as he ravished her.

He could feel his climax coming ever on, and determined to make her come with him, he drove in even harder and deeper and then nearly withdrew before resuming his thrusts. He could not stop crying her name as he plunged into her, all the while she encouraged him by wrenching her hands away from the headboard and digging her short nails into his shoulders. They came together, and he saw stars as his hot seed flooded her, and she vibrated around his cock. Their limbs entwined, and Erik rolled over and pulled Gia to his chest and whispered in her ear his shameful confession, "I have never done that before."

Gia looked into his eyes, and she said in return, "It would seem neither have I." She was lying on top of him and she could see a red stain blossoming on the sheet just next to his hip. "Erik, I'm sorry for ruining your sheets," she apologized.

"I don't care, I have others," his said keeping his voice low as she ran her hands through the hair along his temples. Feeling wicked, Gia deliberately began to rub herself against him, wanting to see his reaction. She found that despite what had just occurred she wanted more of him. Already he was hardening against her thigh so she attacked his mouth, loving the feel of his soft lips against hers.

The last time, he had taken the lead, touching and tasting her chest with his mouth, and she wanted to reciprocate. She made her way leisurely down the column of his neck, pausing at his pulse point to suck hard. She wanted to mark him just as he had that night in the practice room. She felt him suck in a deep breath as she kissed her way down to his nipples, gently biting at them as he had done to hers. She made mental notes of exactly where and how he liked to be touched. Gia worked her way down his chest, but stopped when she reached his hip bones. A part of her wanted to kiss his arousal, but she was afraid that might disgust him, so she began to head back to where she started.

Erik was slightly stunned that Gia wanted him again so quickly. Her deliberate pace was driving him mad, and he knew he could easily flip them over so he could bury himself within her yet again. He was pleased that she was curious as it would bode well for future encounters. This time he would let her take charge, he was frankly interested to see if she even knew sex could take place in this position. He got his answer when she purred in his ear, "Erik can we do it this way? With me on top?" In return he gave her a few simple instructions, and he swore he could feel her entire body turn red.

It was so exciting to be on top, Gia thought. From what he told her, this would be something like riding a horse, but only much more pleasurable. She sat up and licked her lips, hesitating for just a moment before she reached between his legs. He was hard and thick, and yet the skin that covered him was exquisitely soft. She ran her hand around the sensitive crown as she moved into position above him. Sliding down with infinite care, she felt his fullness envelop her once more. Bracing her hands on his chest she began to move up and down, at first moving slowly, but Erik was no longer lying passively beneath her.

He brought his hands up to fondle her breasts, and the added stimulation caused her to increase her pace. She threw her head back, the very picture of wanton abandonment. He then forced himself into a sitting position so their chests became crushed together and Gianna dug her hands into the hair at the back of his head and gave a slight tug. Erik's hands flew to her hips, and he began to work her up and down his shaft until they both came hard in each other's arms.

Sated, Gia carefully crawled off of him, and allowed him to pull the covers around them. She buried her head in the expanse of his neck feeling warm and wanted for the first time in her life, and fell asleep in his arms.


	16. 16

It was only when Erik awoke the next morning he could be sure that last night had not been merely a realistic dream. He could feel the warmth emanating from the body that was pressed intimately against him. Her hair actually tickled his nose, and he reached out to brush it aside so he could bury his nose against her neck. She let out a cooing sound of contentment, and at that he opened his eyes.

Her skin felt softer than any fabric he had ever worn. Unable to contain himself, he slipped his hand down her side and around her hip to cup her bottom and stroke it gently. Gianna rocked her hips back at him, making contact with his arousal which was growing by the moment. She was not quite awake, and Erik decided he would wake her up in a most unusual way.

The hand that he initially placed between them snaked its way around, and he began using it to tease her. Her wetness coated his fingers, and he could not help but feel pride in the knowledge that he was the one who had brought this out of her. She let out a husky moan and turned onto her back, her legs flopping open in a silent invitation he could not refuse. For a moment, Erik just gazed at her body, drinking in the sight of it barely flushed with desire. The tips of her breasts were already hardening, and he watched with amazement as she brought her right hand to her breast to caress it. The sight of her touching herself nearly made him explode on the spot. He took a deep breath to quell his raging desire, then slid down her body, being careful not to wake her. At least, not yet.

Last night he had seen her hesitate when she was kissing her way down his body. He knew she had wanted to touch his cock with her mouth but her innate modesty had gotten the best of her. He would show her there was much pleasure to be gained from that act by demonstrating the effect it could have on her. Placing his hands on her hips, and facing the most hidden part of her, he reached out his tongue to taste her. The moment her essence made contact with his tongue he groaned. She tasted like nothing he had ever had before; sweet, salty, and intoxicating. She tasted better than the finest wines and brandies. And he wanted more of it.

He flicked his tongue against her rapidly, and her hips began to buck against his face, craving something more intense. He gave it to her by licking and probing, then finally plunging his tongue inside her. It was at that moment he felt her awaken.

Gianna had not wanted to wake up. She had been having a most pleasant dream. Erik had been seducing her, whispering hot blandishments in her ear, telling her all the things he was going to do to her when she began to feel a most peculiar sensation between her legs. It felt like someone was touching her there, so she turned over, sure the feeling would dissipate. At first, she seemed vindicated because the sensations evaporated, but then they returned more intense than ever. Her bones felt like they were melting, and she could feel another climax coming as she unwillingly opened her eyes. Gia looked down in disbelief that Erik lay between her thighs and was using his mouth on her in such a way. She had not even thought such a thing would be possible, let alone pleasurable for a man. But from the sounds he was making, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Gia found she could no longer control her body, and she gave in to her body's command to push his head down to urge him on. She could feel the rasp of morning stubble against her inner thighs, and that was the last clear thought she had because a moment later she was being stretched almost to the point of pain by his sudden entry. She could only hold on as his thrusts intensified and when she came she found herself grabbing his firm backside.

The feeling of her hands clutching his ass and her inner muscles contracting around him was enough to send Erik spilling over the edge. He surged forward one final time, grinding his pelvis against hers before he fell against her. He nuzzled her neck and chin, and then began to kiss her mouth, sharing her taste with her. He broke the kiss, and looked into her shining eyes and said, "Good morning."

"Indeed," was the only coherent thought she could muster. Gia lay on her back with her head against the pillows, her skin still tingling. Erik lay on his right side, his head propped up on his hand, the effect of which covered his deformity.

She reached out to him, and cupped his left cheek in her hand. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Hide from me," she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

Erik lay down on his back and placed his hands behind his head, "I suppose it's my natural reaction. I am not used to showing my face to anyone. Tell me truthfully now while you're not in a lustful haze that it does not bother you. If it does, you do not have to endure it. I will wear a mask when we are together." He did not want to impose himself on this woman who on more than one occasion last night could have left him with good reason, but had stayed instead.

Poor Erik, she thought. Whatever had happened to him to make him so sensitive about his face? His deformity was slightly shocking given the contrast to the left side of his face, but he was still an undoubtedly handsome man. He had the most amazing eyes she had ever seen on a man or a woman. The way he had looked her as he touched her was enough to make her desire him. Even when his eyes had pleaded with her to accept him after he removed his mask, she had been aroused.

"Erik, there is no need for you to wear that mask," she said as she turned on her side so she could look at him directly as they talked. "Your face does not bother me. If you can accept me and all my bodily imperfections, I can overlook the small matter of your face."

The small matter of his face! She made it sound like he only had a slight rash or sunburn! "Are you certain Gia that you are not in need of spectacles?"

She giggled but quickly grew serious, "I'm sure. In fact, I think if you didn't wear that damned mask all the time, perhaps your skin might improve a bit. If you like, I can even purchase some beauty creams for you to try, and then there's the makeup in the dressing rooms—" she thought aloud. He cut her off with a sound kiss, rolling her onto her back once more so he could show her again how much he appreciated her thoughtfulness.

Gis responded ardently to his attentions, arching her back into the kiss as their tongues entwined. As he kissed his way down her body, she could not help but note, "You know, for two people who up until last night had never done this before, we seem to be getting an awful lot of practice."

At this, Erik could not help but laugh, and it echoed throughout the chamber. It was a wonderful sound, and Gia could only hope she would hear more of it. She knew little of his past, but she imagined it must have been a lonely one filled with great sadness. Perhaps laughter would help heal his profound wounds.

"I'm making up for lost time," he breathed into the valley between her breasts, and while he was there he could not resist suckling them again. Everything about them fascinated him. The way they looked, felt, and tasted was all so new, it reminded him of a line from Hamlet about "the undiscovered country". So much about sex had been, up until last night, only a theory to him. To discover that is was as glorious as he had imagined it to be was one of the few times in his life that Erik had not been disappointed. Beneath him was a wild, wanton woman who was reveling in every touch, every stroke he gave her. It was as wondrous an experience for her as it was for him. For in those moments when they were lost in each other's bodies they could leave behind all the pain of their pasts, the slights, the loneliness. There was only pleasure. Together, these two twisted and damaged people could create something powerful between them.

He reached between them and found her slick and hot, more than ready for him. He entered her slowly, and purposely made his movements long and drawn out. She whimpered and cried out to him, "More Erik, I need more." Gia raked her nails across his back, leaving marks, but still he would not increase his pace.

Her body was aching for release, and she feared this measured ravishing would make her insane. She locked her legs around him and squeezed, and that elicited a growl of approval. He pushed her up against the bed and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely as he put his hands on the headboard. The only sound was their heavy breathing and the slight squeaking of the bed until they both reached their ultimate fulfillment.

If Erik had his way, they'd spend the entire day this way, in his bed, exploring the many avenues of passion. On second thought though, he thought, maybe they could try this somewhere else. He pictured leaning her over his desk and taking her from behind, or perhaps they could bathe together. He made a mental note to check one of his books later.

Erik lay heavily against her chest, but his weight was not an unpleasant one. Gia would dearly love to lie in his embrace all day, but the hour must be late, and there was supposed to be an afternoon performance. By God, they hadn't even discussed what he thought about last night!

"Erik, I must be going soon. There is a matinee, and there will be questions if I am not there," she said softly and she ran her fingers through his hair. "As enjoyable as this has been, I cannot afford to lose my place."

"You will not lose your place. Dupoix would never fire you. And if he did, I would take care of things," he replied harshly.

"You will do no such thing!" Gia added sharply. "He has a family and this opera is more than your playground, it is a business. Try to remember that."

Erik was speechless, and so she continued, "And another thing, we cannot keep doing this."

"Why ever not? You certainly weren't complaining a moment ago when I was inside you. Or is that faulty memory of yours acting up again?" he teased.

Her gaze became all seriousness as she said, "There are consequences to this Erik. You know that. Consequences that I believe neither of us are prepared to deal with."

He quickly grasped what she was saying as delicately as possible. Pregnancy would be a hardship. The idea of her body swelling with his child was oddly appealing, but he knew it could end her career or even her life. He also could not help but wonder if a child would also bear his mark upon his face. The very idea of bequeathing that on to an innocent child made him shudder.

"I understand. I shall have to make some preparations for the next time."

"I have heard that most men do not like using those devices. They find them, ahem, inhibiting," she blushed.

"We shall have to find out together if that proves to be true, my dear," he returned as he rolled off her and then got up out of the bed.

He stood before her completely nude, and he was a magnificent sight. Whatever was he doing in bed with her? He could probably have any woman he chose if he was not so caught up in what the world thought of his face. Now that daylight was upon them, Gianna felt slightly shy, and she loosened the sheet so she could wrap it around her. He made his way to his wardrobe and donned a black dressing gown which he tied loosely at the waist, leaving a great deal of his chest still exposed to her.

"Is there a place I can change, in private?"

"Alas my dear, like the attic, there is no place for you to change but here. I am more than willing to assist you, or perhaps you would prefer for me to watch?"

Having him help her was out of the question. If they touched again, they would inevitably end up back in his bed, which was exactly what he wanted. She had the courage to disrobe before him last night, today then, she would dress before him. She walked over where her clothes lay in a heap, and fished out the chemise. She pulled it on, and only then did she allow the sheet to puddle around her. Erik pouted, clearly put out she had covered herself.

He observed as she slid on the silk drawers, then added the garter belt and tugged on the stockings rather ungracefully. She topped it with her corset and petticoat, then went about adding the bodice and skirt. Gia could not find her hair pins, so she would have to wear her hair down. She could only hope that no one would see her as they returned. The dress was more than slightly rumpled after spending the night carelessly on the floor, but she kept her head high and her shoulders back, defying anyone who might wish to question her appearance.

Now that he was certain she was leaving him for the present, Erik hastily dressed by putting on the trousers from last evening and a fresh lawn shirt, this one with some ruffles along the edge. He turned to his dressing table and added a fresh wig, and then he walked over to the mirror and picked up the mask where it lay and put it in place. Gianna reflected that not many men could look as intensely masculine as he did in that ensemble. He radiated a simple understated elegance effortlessly. But with the mask on, it was hard for her to think of him as anything but the Phantom. To her, Erik was the man behind the mask.

"Come along now. I shall bring you home so you won't be late for this afternoon's performance. But after that, you are mine Gianna. There are no performances on Monday. Tonight I intend to have you a half-dozen times at least," he said as he held his hand out to her, his voice painting erotic pictures in her mind. He guided her to the gondola, and for the first time, he did not hand her the mask. When Gianna made to put it on, he stopped her.

"I trust you," was all he said. Coming from Erik that meant a great deal to her. On the trip back they discussed the overall performance, and he asked her if she had any idea what Dupoix was planning for the next opera.

"There have been some rumblings of performing _Il Muto_, but since _The Magic Flute_ is rather light, I imagine he'll want to follow up with something more substantial. We haven't done _Orpheus and Eurydice_ in some time, and I know that is a favorite of his." Gianna was surprised how easily they could slip into such a professional conversation when only an hour ago they had been in throes of passion.

He did not say anything, just grumbled a bit under his breath. The only good thing about _Orpheus and Eurydice_ was that it would be a marvelous showcase for the ballet. He was sorely tempted to instruct the manager that their next work would be his own. The manner in which he had so quickly acceded to his demands made Erik confident that the man would comply. But it was still too soon for him to drag all those memories up. He would have to think of another alternative.

The trip back was uneventful until Erik and Gia found themselves in the corridors backstage. Adrienne Leveau was gossiping with Claire Margaux, one of the ballet dancers who was friendly with Meg Giry. It was impossible for them to go any further without detection, and they waited calmly in the hallway hoping they would move along soon. In the meantime, they were forced to hear their conversation, which as usual, Adrienne was monopolizing.

"Claire, I went by that fat cow's room this morning. You know she doesn't even keep the door locked! I've been in there before just to have a look, and I decided to see if I could surprise her in bed with her lover. Imagine my shock when I found the bed had not even been slept in! I can't wait to expose that hypocrite!" She was positively jubilant, and could barely contain her glee.

"Perhaps she was invited to spend the evening with the de Chagny's. I've heard they are a most hospitable couple," stated Claire.

"If that were so, then why did Madame Giry and Meg return? They are close friends with the vicomtess, and I saw them earlier this morning. She was with her 'friend'. I can't wait to find out who he is. He must be hideous to be fucking her. No real man would want her," she concluded with a hiss. Both young women laughed and ran off arm in arm.

Gia turned to Erik who was positively fuming. The look in his eyes was frightening. Adrienne Leveau had no idea who she had just insulted. He would hurt her, and as much as Gianna disliked the girl, she would not have that on her conscience.

"Please, Erik, don't do anything to her on my account. She's just a stupid girl. She doesn't know any better," she implored him.

"She insulted you. You are not fat," he looked at her intensely, "You are far better looking than that overblown whore." To prove his point, he backed her up against the wall, and began to kiss her. Gia felt his hands gathering her skirt, and knew she had to do something. There were too many people about, and they might be discovered.

"Not here, not now. It isn't safe."

He had to agree with her. Displeased he responded, "Some other time then," and then he dropped a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. "Forgive me for leaving you here, I think I should be going back. Soon this place will be crawling with people. I shall be waiting for you later. I have not forgotten about your dinner with the de Chagny's. You must tell me all about it."

It was as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. The last person she wanted to think about was Christine. Without a word, she nodded, acknowledging she understood. Erik looked around before he backed away slowly and slipped into one of his secret passages. Once he had gone, Gia made her way back to her room, and did a quick inventory to make certain nothing was missing. If that girl dared touch her books, Erik would be the least of her troubles. Thankfully nothing was, and so Gia undressed, put on her old robe and settled into bed to take a quick nap. In scant two hours time, she would have to report to the costume room and face Adrienne.


	17. 17

"Maman, have you heard the latest gossip? Adrienne Leveau and Claire are telling anyone that will listen that Gianna's bed was left untouched last night!" cried Meg Giry as she rushed into the ballet dormitories, her hair flying. "And she told us she had no intention of taking a lover, that minx!"

Antoinette Giry was somewhat stunned by this turn of events, and she felt her jaw drop open slightly. The surprise was not that Gia and Erik had spent the night together, she had known that was inevitable from the moment she saw the way they looked when they talked about the other. It was that both had been so clumsy as to be discovered so quickly. But then again, both people were so new to the physical side of passion. She smiled as she thought back on the first days of her marriage when she and Jules would make love whenever they had the chance, heedless of the circumstances, their only concern achieving mutual release.

She should have known that Adrienne would get mixed up in all of this. That viper was one of the few members of the company who could not abide Gianna Burnside. Why she would be jealous of her was another one of the mysteries of this place. Antoinette could only hope that Erik never learned the source of the rumors about Gia. He would not be able to take such a slight to her character, no matter his protestations that she did not matter to him. If anything, last night should have changed that. For that reason, Giry would do her best to quell the rumors, beginning with her daughter.

"My child, how could either of those silly girls know about the state of Mlle. Burnside's bed unless they were trespassing in her room? Even if what they say is true, you should not be associating with anyone who would do that, nor believe what they say. We spent the evening with Gia, do you think she is capable of such a thing?" she said as she patted her daughter on the head.

"Perhaps she was so exhausted last night that she fell asleep on top of her covers, and no one has seen her because she has been at Mass. It is Sunday after all," she thought quickly. There were enough people in this place that liked Gia enough to believe that story. Giry could only hope that Meg was able to circulate it as swiftly as Adrienne.

"I suppose you are right, Maman. Gia does not seem like the sort of girl who would do that. But whoever gave her that dress? You always told me gifts such as that always come with some sort of string attached."

"That, my dear, is something for Gia to be worried about. We should not meddle in her private affairs unless she asks for our advice," she concluded, wincing at her use of the word "affair". By now it was close to noon, and Meg was needed backstage to begin readying for the matinee performance.

* * *

Erik allowed Gia to believe that he was returning home after he withdrew from her in the hallway. But he would not allow Adrienne Leveau's insults to Gia or him stand. The chit had to be punished, but in such a way that would not be too suspicious. He thought about everything he had learned about the young mezzo soprano from Gia and his own observations. The girl was incredibly vain and full of herself. A set down would do her good. He could not help grinning as he thought of the perfect way to avenge the honor of his lover. It was a good thing he rarely left his home without his tools for locks. His skill with locks had come from his years in the circus and living with gypsies. It was perhaps one of the few lessons he had learned there that had not been pounded into him with a staff.

Acting quickly, he hurried to the dressing rooms, found a scrap of paper to write on, and left a note at her station that there was something waiting for her in her rooms. She was forever showing off the gifts from her gentleman callers to the other girls, and he was sure she would take the bait. Erik did not have to wait long because Adrienne was the first chorus member to arrive. No doubt she was hoping to further spread slander about Gianna to anyone who had not heard, and then humiliate her when she arrived. As he suspected, she was only in the dressing room a moment before she rushed back up toward her room. Erik knew a way he could get there ahead of her.

* * *

Adrienne scurried up the stairs quickly, anxious to see what had been left for her. She had been away from her rooms most of the morning having spent most of it gossiping among the chorus girls and the ballet dancers. By now all should have heard that Gianna Burnside had a lover. Now, if she would only turn up pregnant or end up with a disease Dupoix would be forced to let her go, and she could cease worrying about being usurped. It had not gone beyond her notice that the old conductor Reyer had praised the older woman throughout rehearsals for her voice as well as her professionalism. Everyone seemed to like her even though she had always behaved as if she was better than them because her mother was once the star at the Metropolitan. She had no reason to put on airs! Gia was nothing more than a lucky bastard.

As a principal, her room was slightly larger than some of the chorus girls and was at the opposite end of the hall as Gia's. She excitedly threw the door open, impatient to see what had been left for her. However as she looked around the room, there was nary a brightly wrapped package, or even a bouquet of flowers to be seen. Furious that a practical joke had been played on her, she wheeled around to storm back down the stairs, but out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadowy figure shutting the door behind her. Adrienne ran to the door, and found she was unable to open it. She threw herself against the door and began shouting for someone to help her, but it was all for naught. The dormitories were empty because everyone had reported backstage. There was nothing for her to do but sit and wait until she was released.

It was only she made a closer examination of the door did she realize that someone must have picked her door lock, then quickly removed the lock, and flipped it onto the other side of the door. Who at the opera house would know how to do something like that? As far as she knew, no one had any gypsy blood or had formerly worked as a locksmith. She flopped down onto the bed in a heap, and decided to use the time to catch up on her beauty sleep. It had been a long night anyway. But as sleep overtook her, it dawned on her that Gianna Burnside would be replacing her in today's performance. Somehow that bitch had orchestrated this! And for that insult she would pay dearly.

Assured that Adrienne was safely contained, Erik made his way down to the opera boxes. One of the lesser ones was vacant, and although it did not have the best view, he would be able to observe Gianna's performance. The truth be told, he had been planning for Adrienne to have some sort of accident so that Gia would have the opportunity to take a leading role for one evening. Her vicious remarks had only given him incentive to do so sooner than he had originally planned. He was quite pleased he had been able to do this for Gia without any blood being spilled. Perhaps now Adrienne would learn a valuable lesson. If she did not, he would have to take more drastic measures, something which Erik did not particularly desire.

Even though Gia had told him not to do anything, he pushed that aside. She could not have possible meant that. He had seen the hurt in her eyes when Adrienne had insulted her body and as much said only a monster would ever want to take her to his bed. He might be a monster, but when this affair ended Gia would move on to other better men than he. He was showing her that she had nothing to fear from her desires, that they were natural and good. As long as they were careful, there need not be any unwanted consequences. This would be a good experience for them both. Surely they were mature enough to be friends as well as lovers and not become permanently attached.

Erik settled into the back of the box, careful to stick to the back wall awaiting the performance to begin. He only wished he could be in two places at once. It was a shame he was missing the chaos that had to be going on backstage. By now, someone would notice that Adrienne was missing, and Gia would be getting the word that she would be performing in her place. She would probably already be in her handmaiden costume and makeup which would only make for even greater problems. If only he could see Gia's face!

It was such an expressive face. She had never been one to hide her emotions from him. She was not always forthcoming about her past, but she had never lied to him, of that he was certain. She was too honorable for that. He could already picture her eyes half-closed and her mouth parted as she cried his name as he loomed over her. After Christine had left him that final time, Erik had thought he would never have the chance make a woman do that. Even if he never took another lover, he would thank her for allowing him in those moments to be the man he had dreamed of being.

And yet not once during last night or this morning had she pitied him. There had only been raw want and need. As he waited for the curtain to roll back, he began thinking about the night that lay ahead of them. He was determined to make good on his promise to her. Never let it be said that the Phantom of the Opera did not make good on his word.

* * *

The backstage was indeed as chaotic as Erik had imagined. Gia had been in the midst of dressing when Madame Beaulieu came bursting through the dressing room screaming at her. The small woman was stronger than she looked because she physically hauled Gia to the sewing room, and then proceeded to inform her of the crisis. It was only because Gia was so much larger than Adrienne that she had made a spare costume for Gia as Papagena. Otherwise, the performance would have been a disaster because it would have been impossible to alter the garment in time.

Papagena's costume was that of a simple peasant woman, and Gia was far more comfortable wearing it than the handmaiden dress. But whatever could have happened to Adrienne? She had been dreading their next encounter, and it seemed far too convenient that she was not here to taunt her. It was not the sort of opportunity that Adrienne was likely to miss. The only logical explanation was that Erik was involved in some way. They would have words later. For now she must focus on the upcoming performance.

Her only real regret was that her mother was not here. She would have dearly loved to see her only child take the stage in a leading role. Mama had always told her one day she would get her chance. Gia was grateful, even if it had finally come to pass because of Erik's rashness rather than her being given the opportunity because of an illness. What could he have possibly done to Adrienne? If he hurt her, she would never speak to him again. He might ruin her life personally as well as professionally, but she could never be with someone who used violence so easily.

It was fortunate that her character did not make an entrance until somewhat later in the opera because when the curtain was drawn back, she had not been quite ready. Before the performance had begun an announcement was made that Adrienne Leveau would not be performing, and that her role would be filled by Mlle. Gianna Burnside. Hearing her name made her swell with pride. After a last minute check in the mirror, she headed for the wings to wait for her cue to enter.

The opera itself had gone off without a hitch, and she had received very warm applause when she took her final bow with Michel St. Andre, the handsome baritone who had played Papageno. As they walked off stage, he placed a kiss on her hand, and she flashed back to the one moment that afternoon that had upset her.

She and Michel had shared a duet during the second act at the conclusion of which he had kissed her soundly. During rehearsals he had not done that. Not even with Adrienne. That would further set tongues wagging, and only inflame the mezzo. To worsen matters, Erik was sure to have seen it. It was the only thing she could think about as she undressed and removed the stage makeup. Would he punish her as he had Adrienne? Would he go after Michel who had probably only done it because of the rumors swirling that she had a lover? Although there was now another story making the rounds that Gia had simply fallen asleep on top of the covers and had attended an early morning service which had accounted for her conspicuous absence early in the morning. That could have only come from the ever quick witted Madame Giry.

Gia could only admire her fierce loyalty to Erik. She wondered if he knew the friend he had in her. She treated Erik like a family member. If Erik was loved by anyone, it was Antoinette Giry, she reflected. It was not a romantic attachment to be sure, but Gia could only hope that the ballet mistress was not blinded by her affection for him. She knew all to well what could happen if Erik lost control again.

As Gia expected, Erik was waiting for her, standing by her bookcase, fingering the volumes rather absentmindedly, as though something was weighing heavily on his mind. She also noted that he had not changed his clothes from this morning. Even without the formal wear, he could still be an imposing figure. Hell, she thought, he was imposing without any clothes at all! He was standing in profile, with his perfect left facing her, the only flaw his frown.

"It would seem you have been busy when we have not been together. How many men have you been seeing? I suppose I should be grateful you allowed me to break you in for the baritone," he accused her, his eyes aflame.

"As ever, Erik, you jump to conclusions. You know that was not something that was planned. You have been to enough rehearsals to know that. I almost gagged when he kissed me. Would you have preferred if I made a scene and slapped him? I'm sure it was just a joke. If anything, this is your fault."

"How pray tell is that?"

"If I had been here this morning, Adrienne would not have been spreading rumors about me having a lover, and Michel would not have been so emboldened as to kiss me in public. I assure you, that man is not interested in me. He has half the corps de ballet's favors to choose among."

Erik countered, "And if you kept your door locked, Adrienne would have never been in this room!" His voice rising with every word, he almost shouted, "How could you be so stupid?" but moderated his tone out of concern it would attract attention.

"As I seem to recall, you were the one who was in a rush to get me back to your home to 'discuss' matters," she responded, unafraid to give him his own back. "You were so intent on seducing me that I did not have time to lock the door."

"You did not seem to mind last night," he grumbled. "You were just as eager as I. Or was that yet another brilliant performance?"

This last remark cut her to the quick. She had given him everything last night, and now he insulted her? Accused her of being a whore? "Believe what you want Erik. Thank you for destroying what had been up until now a memory I intended to cherish," she retorted angrily. "And what have you done with Adrienne? I told you not to do anything on my behalf. I would have dealt with her."

Erik his hands across his chest as he said, "There is no cause for concern, I simply locked her in her room. I released her before I came here. She should guard her tongue more closely in the future."

At this, Gia could not help but laugh. "You do not know Adrienne. She will blame me for this somehow. And she will make my life a living hell whenever she has the opportunity. You have only succeeded in exacerbating matters," she said with a small sigh.

Changing the subject, Erik cocked his head towards the wardrobe, and said, "We should be going. I want to talk about Christine away from here." Without even asking, he went to her door, locked it, then took her hand. Reminded of the woman Gia could not help see as a rival, she jerked her hand away from him.

"I do not need your assistance. I am not a child," she said whining slightly.

"Then cease acting like one."

"Has it never occurred to you that I am sick and tired of thinking about the fair Christine? I can't imagine I'm going to tell you anything you don't already know. She's happily married and has a child. Her husband is a good man who loves her. Sometimes Erik, it is that simple. I beg you leave them alone to their happiness. Nothing good can come if you interfere."

Erik could only stare at her while she scolded him like a schoolboy. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Is there nothing else I should know? No small important details you are leaving out? I must know everything."

His entire body language changed when he spoke of her. The arrogance had melted into the ether, and he became almost fragile in appearance. There was a reverence in his voice whenever he spoke her name. Would he ever speak of her that way? Gia mentally shook herself. That was not something she wanted anyway. At this point, she could not be sure what she wanted.

"Erik, I could spend the entire evening recounting our dinner conversation to you, but it all reduces to what I told you essentially. The only thing that puzzled me was that she does not wear an engagement ring, and she became rather unsettled when I mentioned it. I gather you are responsible for that," she said as she sat down on her bed.

For the first time since she had known him, Erik looked physically uncomfortable. "She gave it to me," he revealed, "So I would have something of hers. It was her way of saying good-bye to me. "

He took a seat next to Gia on the bed, and softly kissed her mouth, wanting to forget the past, and only live in the present. The kiss was one of infinite gentleness, far different than any he had ever given her before. Gia found herself leaning into him, increasing the pressure, and they simultaneously groaned as their tongues touched. His hands were splayed across her back, and he lowered her slowly to the bed as he continued to kiss her.

Gia's head was swimming with pleasure quickly, and he was loosening his shirt above her. The unpleasantness of earlier forgotten, she slid her hands inside the shirt to touch his chest. She had not known a man's skin could be so soft. She enjoyed the feel of his body as he moved and even how the hair on his chest felt against her palms. His kiss deepened as she teased his nipples, and now he was using his hands to work the buttons at the front of her dress.

If this went much further, they would be naked again, and she doubted he had time today to purchase the necessary items to prevent conception. He had promised her he would protect her from that. Just as he was pushing off her bodice, he looked down and saw she was wearing her old corset, and said, "I think I'm going to have to burn that wretched thing, it does not do you justice. In fact−−"

Gia cut him off, "We can't do this, Erik. I want to, but unless you have some French letters I must ask you to leave."

"I told you, my dear, I intend to have you tonight," he said as he sat back. "Come Gia, I showed you this morning there are ways for us to enjoy each other without you becoming pregnant."

Her eyes widened as she said artlessly, "You want me to do that to you? I don't think I can. You are rather big you know."

He smiled and stated, "I must say Gia you are marvelous for my fragile ego. And yes, I very much want you to do that to me. I will not force you. I only want you to try. But not here. Besides, for some of the things I want to try, we're going to need a bit more room to maneuver."

What could he possibly have in mind that would require more room? Then again, her bed was rather small. They were both so tall that their feet hung of the edge of the mattress. She would have been lying to herself if she did not admit she was intrigued by his rather provocative suggestion. Gia simply gave her silent assent by a quick nod of her head.

"It is most fortunate I purchased some French letters not long ago in anticipation of your request." He straightened himself, and once again held out his hand to her. This time she took it gladly, already yearning for whatever he had in store for them.


	18. 18

**A/N: I just wanted to let everyone know that this may be my last chapter for a bit because I'm going to be without internet access for a couple days. I'm going to try to keep writing though so once I have the chance, I'll post something quickly. As ever, thank you for all the reviews and encouragement.**

* * *

Rousing slowly, Gia raised her head from Erik's bed, and found that she was alone. The curtains had been drawn leaving her some measure of privacy, and possibly shield her from the music that was pouring from the organ. It was not anything Gia recognized, and she assumed it was most likely one of his compositions. His music was a perfect reflection of the man he was: intense, passionate, and mysterious, she thought to herself. It was a pity no one except her got to hear it. But there were few people who would understand it as she did. One only had to spend a short amount of time with Erik to comprehend where his music came from.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day and night before. The trip to his home had been uncomfortably silent, the two of them lost in individual reverie. That was until the gondola settled onto the shore at the place she had come to think of as his home. After he had helped her from the boat, he made straight for his desk, and after digging into one drawer he fished out a small tin. When Gia drew near enough, she saw it was stamped with a gold fleur de lis. He had purchased some French letters after all.

He'd had her there, up against the desk. She nude save her garter belt and stockings, he fully clothed. Facing away from him, he had panted in her ear as she ground her hips back at him while their hands entwined on the desk. The coupling had been swift and frenzied, but left neither close to being sated. When he withdrew from her, she felt so empty that she turned so that they might remain in some close contact. He was still wearing the mask, and she ripped it away from his face without ceremony.

"Don't wear that when we're together like this," she had said to him as she caressed the right side of his face, attempting to ease the sting. For a moment he had looked as if there were tears in his eyes, but then he stepped away from her to dispose of the French letter and she could no longer see his face.

And so it had gone on, for most of the day and into the evening, they had made love. On second thought, one could not call it that. It was sex. Fucking. Gia could barely recall how they ever arrived at his bed. What she could recall with clarity was the moment she had knelt before him and taken him into her mouth for the first time. It been strangely empowering for all it was an act of submission. He had tasted faintly of rubber, but underneath that was something essentially male that it had spurred her on. At first he had murmured instructions to her, but she had quickly learned where he most wanted her to touch. Soon he was calling her name, his hands lost in her hair. She gripped his hips and suckled all the harder increasing in speed and depth working her tongue around the knob. His essence had tasted somewhat salty and bitter but she had swallowed all of it, then stood up and shared with him the taste of himself on her lips as he had with her.

Although Gia had some idea what sex entailed, mostly from overhearing snatches of conversation around the opera house, she had been ignorant of much of the specifics. Her mother had told her that when the time came, when she was married, to simply lie still beneath her husband and let him do what had to be done. It was not something for her to enjoy, it was merely a woman's duty to her husband. It had always puzzled her why if the act was for a man's benefit why so many women seemed to enjoy it. When she had posed that question to her mother, she had received a hard smack across the face. After that, she never asked about what passed between men and women behind closed doors.

It had never occurred to her that there could be different positions, and that there were so many different types of kisses and caresses. She never thought she would be so curious. Erik had done this to her. When he touched her, she lost all her inhibitions, and all she could think of was bringing him the same pleasure he was giving so selflessly to her. She had never imagined anything besides dancing could make her feel so free and alive, but within the confines of his strong embrace he brought her unspeakable joy. Gia had been certain that long ago she had put out all the flames of passion within her heart, but he had skillfully stirred the embers into a searing blaze.

Slipping from the black silk sheets, her muscles screamed in protest. Although her body was used to some regular exertion, it had not been so active in years. There were parts of her that ached that she had never known existed. Looking at her naked form in the mirror, she could see her body was littered with red marks and bruises. All around her navel there were tiny bite marks, and she closed her eyes recalling how he had given them to her. Thinking about the sensation of his tongue on her skin was enough to make her wet for him. But what she really needed were some clothes.

He had stripped her so heedlessly that she had no earthy idea where they could be. However, he had thoughtfully draped his dressing gown over a chair for her. It was black velvet and lined in silk. It was a trifle too long, but it would keep her warm and provide adequate cover while she gathered her things so she could dress. The clock indicated it was early morning, and if she hurried, she could return to her room on her own before anyone would notice she had been gone all night. She still needed to speak with Adrienne Leveau. She would not have the principal mezzo destroying her hard fought reputation.

All too quickly, she was seized with the need to use the bathroom. Did he even have a bathroom? And now that she thought of it, she could do with a bath. Pushing the curtain aside, she walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. At her touch, he immediately stopped playing.

"Don't stop on my account, Erik. I enjoy hearing you play so much. I did not want to disturb you, but I need to use the facilities. Could you point me in the right direction?"

He grinned up at her and she could see he was not wearing the mask, "Would you also perhaps like a bath? If you are half as sore as I am this morning, I would imagine so."

He got up from the bench, and escorted her behind a large screen where there was a wash stand, complete with bowl and pitcher, towels, a cake of soap, and at the bottom a chamber pot. Gia had not used one of those in years since the opera house had modern plumbing, but if that was all there was, she would not complain. He excused himself, and she went about the business of her normal morning routine.

While she was in the midst of trying to give herself a bath using the water from the pitcher, Erik returned toting an enormous old-fashioned oak tub. He placed it behind the screen, and then proceeded to fetch bucket after bucket of water. He knelt beside the tub, and he tested the water with his fingers, wanting to be sure it was not too hot. Assured it was not, he brought forth a tray on which sat various bath oils and scented soaps.

"You truly are a magician! Where did you get these things?" she asked, astounded he would have such luxuries.

"I dislike being dirty as much as anyone. Before I made my home here I purchased the tub and the soaps. As for the water, I heat it on the small stove I keep tucked out of sight." He poured into the water a generous quantity of Epsom salts, then followed that with some oil from one of the bottles. "Make yourself comfortable," he invited.

The water smelled so divine that Gia hurriedly undid the robe, and tossed it aside, forgetting that Erik was still there watching her. He watched her gracefully submerge most of her body into the water, and was slightly disappointed that the only area left uncovered was from her collarbone on up. She let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes, inhaling the delicate floral scent. She already felt more relaxed and less sore.

The fragile spell was broken as she heard the tell tale sound of clothes falling to the floor. She opened her eyes to find Erik climbing in to join her.

"Turn around now, my dear. I'll just slip in behind you. This tub was built to hold two, though I daresay not usually two people with legs as long as ours." Once he was situated, he bade her to get into his lap so she could lean up against him while their skins soaked up the bath oil. She shook her head in the negative.

"Erik, I'm too big. I'll hurt you," she said, wishing that she was more petite. But he gave her no choice in the matter, and dragged her into his lap, in the process causing water to slosh out of the tub and onto the stone floor where it drenched his robe and clothes. Gia playfully splashed him, and he captured her mouth in a hungry kiss. She wound her hands around his neck and they simply kissed until he pulled away from her mouth, but he still held her against his body by pressing one hand to her stomach. Using the other, he groped for the tray so he could reach a bar of soap. Grasping it, he brought it into the bath water and began to work up a lather.

He washed every inch of her skin, lingering over those parts of her that he had come to be most enchanted with. There was that spot where her thigh curved into her bottom, and the gentle slope of her stomach. He scrubbed her back, and then lavished a great deal of attention on her legs and arms. Satisfied, he helped her get her hair wet, and then he washed it for her.

The feel of Erik's hands on her head and in her hair was both erotic and immensely relaxing. She had not been bathed like this since she was a child, and it was an unexpected pleasure. His hands were so large, and yet so gentle. They were capable of delivering death but nevertheless she could not turn away from his caresses. Perhaps that was part of the attraction; knowing that he could hurt her and defying those odds.

When he finished she took the soap from him, and did the same to him in turn. As she washed him, he noticed his body was as marked as hers. She had left actual bruises where she had held his hips, and his back was littered with scratches and indentations from where she had used her nails on him.

"I hurt you," she stated simply. "I do not know what possessed me."

"I do not mind. At least earning these marks was a pleasure unlike the others. But I must admit, I did not expect you would be so enthusiastic. I had hoped so," he replied, his expression one of bemusement. "If you truly hurt me, I would have told you."

"It's just I am not myself when we are together. You come near me and I become like an animal, a mare in season. How long can this possibly last?" she honestly asked him.

"You want to end this then," he said succinctly, disappointed that she would end their love affair so quickly.

"No Erik, I don't want to end this. But the level of intensity cannot sustain itself. You are going to become tired of me. Eventually we will run out of ways to do it."

At this he laughed, and drew her back against his chest so he could nuzzle her neck and nip her earlobe. "Gia, you really have no idea of the infinite variety of coitus, do you? Perhaps I should loan you one of my books. It will take us some time for us to exhaust all the possibilities, and by then we may come up with a few of our own. I could have you here, in this tub. Our bodies slick with moisture and oil, the water providing added lubrication," he vividly suggested. "Does that excite you?"

Gia rapidly turned so she could look him full in the face and excitedly asked, "There are books?"

He laughed again. How skillfully she was able to defuse the situation! "How do you think I know anything about sex if not by reading? It is not as if I have had many opportunities living under an opera house. Looking like this," he said motioning to his face.

"I still say you could have nearly any woman you desire if you would stop worrying about your face. You have much to recommend you aside from that, Erik. You are an intelligent, and dare I say exciting man. I can easily imagine women fighting each other to get their hands on you," she said as he extricated himself from the tub as the water was growing cool. Treated to a view of his broad back, long legs, and firm rear end, she sighed as he wrapped a towel around his hips. It was not very long, and when he faced her she drank in the view of his thighs. She could not help from commenting, "Especially if they got a view of your ridiculously gorgeous body."

That remark actually made Erik blush. He said nothing in response, and instead helped her up and handed her a towel. Since his dressing gown had been ruined by water, he went off to fetch her clothing so she could dress. It took a bit of searching since some of her things were in rather odd places. Most of them were piled by the desk, but he encountered her garter belt and stockings strewn about his bedroom. One stocking had even gotten caught on the end of the bed. He folded everything neatly, and as he carried the bundle to her, he cast aside her corset. He hated that damned thing anyway.

He allowed her to dress in privacy and took the opportunity to do the same. Then he went to his desk where two letters on two different sets of stationary lay waiting. One was addressed to Monsieur Dupoix, and it was on the familiar white and black paper. The other was on plain parchment, the most common sort available, and sealed with a black "E". It was for Christine.

Gis shortly appeared from behind the screen, attempting to arrange her hair as she walked. "You know, if I'm going to spend so much time here, I'm going to need to bring some things down here." Her smile faded into a frown when she saw the letters. "What do you want from Dupoix now?"

"If you must know, I am not making any new demands. I merely wanted to congratulate him on the success of the production, and inform him why Mlle. Leveau was unavailable. I do not want him to think I have grown complacent."

"You told him about us!" she screeched.

"No. Only that Mlle. Leveau displeased me, and I saw to it she was suitably punished. Are you so embarrassed about being with me that you care if I told him what he already assumes?"

"I do not wish for his opinion of me to be altered. If you were willing to stop playing at this 'Phantom' business I would be pleased to be seen with you," she returned, her eyes cast down.

"I am not playacting, woman! I AM the Phantom," spittle forming at the corners of his mouth as he fumed.

"I don't believe that Erik. It's just another mask you hide behind."

"And what about you my dear? You play at being the circumspect spinster, but in my bed you are anything but!" He could not pass up the chance to remind her of how they had spent the past hours. Gia was a different woman without her clothes. When dressed, she challenged him, pushed him to the point where he had once struck her. No one had ever done that before. Why was she not intimidated by him? Even Antoinette feared him to some degree.

"Why do you do this Erik? I only want to help you! You should not be hiding under here when you have so much to give to the world. You are profoundly selfish, not to mention greedy squandering the talents God gave you."

"I care for God as much as He cares for me. He cursed me with this face! This face which is responsible for everything that I am. It's this face that cost me Christine! If not for this, I would be her beloved and not that boy!"

He had flown into a fine tantrum, and he swatted at a row of candles, knocking them to the ground. Gia knew the prudent thing to do would be to hold her tongue, but she hurled the following accusations at him, "Have you never considered that what repulsed her was not your face, but your actions? From what little I know, you abducted her onstage and nearly killed her fiancé. That is not something that would endear you to anyone."

"You were not there the first time she saw my face! She took my mask off, and it reduced her to tears!"

"And I'm sure you had nothing to do with that!" she said sarcastically. "I am certain it was more shock than anything. And if you have finished belittling me for the morning, I shall be returning back home," she said, daring him to continue. "I suppose you expect me to deliver those notes for you. Who is that other one for?"

"It should be delivered to Christine. I am sure you can find out from Madame Giry how to have it delivered," he told her. His letter to Christine was begging her for forgiveness. He wanted her to put the past behind them, and hoped that she would agree to see him so they could talk. There was always the chance she would show the letter to her husband, and he would be forced to flee again, but Erik believed that Christine had to care for him in some way still.

"Are you mad? Do you know the danger this places yourself in?" she said incredulously. "Do you care nothing for your safety?"

"My goodness, do you actually care what happens to me?"

That he would doubt her feelings toward him, hurt her. She did not love him, but he was a friend. If she had felt nothing for him, she would not have given him her virginity. It had been a rash decision on her part, but she would not regret it. He had given her the chance to back away, but at that moment she could think of nothing better than for he to be the one to take it from her.

"I like to think of you as a good friend, Erik. I care about my friends. But if you really want me to get this note to Christine I will, for your sake."

"Thank you. I appreciate your concern," he stumbled a bit over his next words, "And I apologize for losing my temper. I have endeavored to improve it, but it is difficult for me when I think about what happened two years ago. I had not thought it would bother me after all this time."

"After meeting Christine, I can understand why she would be a hard woman to forget. She is most charming, and she treated me with nothing but kindness despite the fact we are not of the same social class. I did not want to like her, but I do." At that moment she could feel nothing but sympathy for him. It must be a terrible thing to love someone and have them turn away from you. He had made himself vulnerable and she wounded him more deeply than any knife could have. How long had these feelings been allowed to fester without an outlet? All thoughts of returning back to her room left her. Using her skirts as a cushion, she sat down on the floor, and looked up into his pained expression.

"Tell me all about Christine."

He sat down beside her.


	19. 19

**A/N: Thank you so much for being so patient waiting for this chapter. In this chapter I am offering my own version of Erik's childhood based on what was contained in the recent film. As always, please read and review. I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

Erik never could be sure precisely why he sat down beside Gia and began to talk to her. But once he started to talk, he was unable to stop. He began by telling Gia all about how Christine had come to the Opera Populaire as a small, unhappy, and lonely child. When he heard her weeping in the chapel for her father to send her the Angel of Music as he had promised, he had come to her only to comfort her. He sang to her and she stopped crying. Erik had been so elated that he had been able to bring happiness into someone's life that he continued to see her whenever possible.

One day, she told Erik she wanted to sing for him, and her sweet soprano had enchanted him. He wanted to help her improve so that if she was not content to be in the corps de ballet perhaps she could be a chorus member. Christine's talent grew by leaps and bounds under his tutelage, and he eventually came to the conclusion that she must replace Carlotta Giudicelli. In the meantime, the girl he had known had blossomed into a stunning woman who still believed that he was nothing more than a spirit. But he was no longer content to fill that role. He loved her with all the passion of a flesh and blood man, and he was certain that the time would be perfect to reveal himself once she took her rightful place on stage.

Instead everything had gone to hell. The new managers arrived with their new patron in tow, and as it happened Christine and he had known each other as children. He went forward with his plan despite that fact, and felt vindicated when she had responded to him just as he expected. He had not counted on her curiosity to see what lay beyond the mask. He had planned to reveal himself fully to her eventually, once he could be sure she would not be frightened of him. But no, she unmasked him the next day, and was soon running into the arms of the viscomte.

Her rejection of him on the rooftop had been what had broken him. He determined that the only way to win her back was to finally complete his opera and order her to star in it. He, the Phantom, would take the stage beside her and win her through song. It had all made so much sense at the time.

He told her, in detail, about those final hours, and how what had begun as a magical night for him ended in misery. While they had sung together on stage, he could feel the eyes of the viscomte on them, and how he seethed that Christine was allowing another man to touch her in such a bold manner. But that was followed by her final betrayal, unmasking him as he pledged his love to her, pleading with her to save him from a life of solitude. In a rage, he cut the chandelier, and made his escape with her, knowing the boy would chase after her. But when the time had come for Erik to kill him, he could not do it, knowing that Christine loved him. He had released them, but then _she_ came back ever so briefly, raising his hopes. At this, he began to weep, and Gia said nothing, only took him in her arms and held him as his hot tears fell on her neck.

Once he concluded by telling her of his escape, he found himself telling her about his childhood and his mother. His clearest first memory was when she gave him a mask to wear so she would not have to look at his face. He had been fortunate to have been born at all. He had been an accident. His mother had been a high priced prostitute and so ashamed by what she had given birth to, she preferred to hide him away rather than give him up. When her "gentlemen friends" as she had called them, paid her a visit, she would lock him in his room with books to look at.

By the age of five he taught himself to read since she would not bring in a tutor because that would have acknowledged the existence of her child. He quickly exhausted her rather pitiful collection, mostly romance novels, the more lurid the better, and so she had bought him book after book to keep him occupied. It might have continued like that forever, but when the gypsy circus came to town, his mother saw this as the perfect opportunity to rid herself of her little problem. He had been eight years old and he had been so excited when she told him they were going to the circus together. He had never been on an outing before. He had been delighted by the clowns, magicians, and the little performing dogs. It had been a wonderful afternoon, and as night began to fall she told him there was one final thing they had to see together.

She brought Erik before the gypsy king in his large colorful tent and unmasked him. After the usual screams from horrified women, the huge mustachioed man offered to buy him as an attraction. He never knew how much his mother had gotten for him. And so he spent the follow years being treated worse than an animal for the amusement of others until he escaped with the help of the young Antoinette Giry.

It was only once he finished speaking that Gia said a word to him.

"I'm so sorry Erik. No one should ever have to endure what you have. I know that must come as little consolation to you, but is all I can say to you. If I could think of better words, I would," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. He finally looked up at her, and he could see she had been crying as well. Unsure of what to say or do, he moved in to kiss her, but she abruptly pushed him away.

"Erik, sex is not going to fix anything. We cannot keep using it as a substitute for conversation. And at the moment, I find it is the last thing I want." She stood up and continued, "Please do not think I am rejecting you. I enjoy our physical relationship a great deal, perhaps more than I should, but having spent the last hours listening to you weep over Christine is not conducive to romance."

"Then why did you listen? Why did you ask me about her to begin with?" he asked her. Why didn't women make any sense?

"I asked because despite everything, I care about you. I know she hurt you terribly, but you must find a way to move on with your life. I thought that talking about it would help you. That does not mean I personally wanted to hear it. Has it never occurred to you what bad form it is to discuss the woman you love with the woman you are sleeping with?" she said this remark with a strained laugh.

"You knew I loved Christine when we first slept together. You've known that from the start. I haven't promised you anything," he replied, honestly confused.

"That doesn't mean I don't have feelings!" she shouted at him. "It hurts me to hear about how much you love her because I know you don't feel that way about me. No one will ever love me in that way, I know that. But it is cold comfort. Everyone, Erik, wants that kind of love and acceptance! Not just you."

Her confession came as much a revelation as when she had told him about what Joseph Buquet had done to her. The more time they spent together the more he realized how much they were alike. Why was she so certain that she would never find love? She must know now that she was certainly physically pleasing. Gia was an intelligent, strong woman, most men would be lucky to find one like her. True, she was somewhat older, but she was a woman nearing her prime rather than one in the first blush of womanhood.

"Gia, I see no reason why you cannot find someone to love you. You know, you might pursue Michel St. Andre. He did kiss you after all, and he's quite handsome," he added, trying to be helpful as he dragged himself up off the floor.

"He's also conceited and has slept with nearly every chorus girl who will have him. Oh, and he hasn't a brain in that pretty head of his. You will have to pardon me for looking for more than an attractive face in a potential husband. I do believe that you have spoiled me for other men, Erik." Gia mentally berated herself for that last remark. He might take that the wrong way. She did not want him to think that she viewed her lost virginity as the reason why she was spoiled. She quickly continued, "Not many men could hold a candle to you in many ways. Perhaps I am unwilling to compromise."

"Oh yes, how many men could offer you all this?" he said gesturing around his lair his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You know that is not what I meant. But I will not argue with you because you will not listen to me anyway." That seemed to end the discussion, and Erik picked up the notes that she had left on the floor and handed them to her. She accepted them, and then they made their way to the boat. He offered to take her all the way back to her room, but she declined, saying she preferred to make as much of the trip on her own as possible. This way if anyone was lurking backstage, she would be alone and it would be far easier to explain. He did not press her, and he let her go on her own as soon as it was feasible.

They made no arrangements to see each other again.

* * *

Clutching the notes, she first went to Monsieur Dupoix's office and dropped off his note. He had not been there himself since it was his customary lunch hour. It was better that he was out because she did not relish the questions he might ask her. They would either be about her reputed lover or Erik, and she was in no mood to have to obfuscate. Why did she keep opening herself to pain? Why was she not content to have a purely physical relationship with him? The more she learned of his tragic life, the more she cared about him, something that was most unwise. At least now that he knew how much hearing about Christine bothered her, perhaps he would use Madame Giry to stay in contact with her in the future.

That reminded her, although Christine had asked Gia to write to her, she had neglected to tell her the address at which she could be reached. Madame Giry would surely have the correct information. Gia also wanted to talk to the ballet mistress about Erik. She had known him longer than anyone else, and she should be able to give her some insight into what as happening between them. It would be embarrassing to discuss, but Gia needed someone to talk to, and frankly there was no one else she could trust. So much of the past few days was a puzzle to her, and any advice she could give her would be most welcome. It would simply be a relief to talk to another human being, to get Erik off her chest as it were.

As she made her way through the dormitories Gia saw the looks that some people were giving her. Her absence had been noted again, and this was the second night in a row. The only good thing was that her room was locked so no one could get inside to see that her bed remained unslept in. With the note in her left hand, she knocked on the ballet mistress's door hoping that she would be there. It was possible she would be using the free day to run errands, or simply to spend time with her daughter. However, Gia quickly heard footsteps and she prepared herself in case it was Meg rather than her mother.

Madame Giry's kind countenance filled the doorway, and she immediately asked Gia to come in, and offered her a comfortable chair to sit in. Gia gratefully accepted the seat and Giry sat down on her bed, neatly folding her hands in her lap. Gia was at something of a loss what to say. It would be rather indelicate to simply begin by telling her how she had spent the last two nights. Thankfully, Madame Giry opened the conversation by asking about the note Gia was carrying.

"It is a note for Christine from Erik. I told him he was mad to send anything to her, but he insists it be given to her. He truly loses all sense when it comes to her," Gia replied.

"Indeed he does, my dear. Have you and Erik talked about Christine?" Giry gently inquired.

Gia could not suppress a sigh, and she proceeded to recount the details of their morning conversation. Madame Giry nodded, confirming that Erik had not lied about the events of two years ago.

"I am very unsure of where this leaves us, Madame Giry. I have told him that Christine upsets me, and I am hopeful he will not ask me to act as an in between again. But Erik is not the most sensitive man when it comes to other people's feelings I have learned," she said matter-of-factly.

"You have gotten to know him very well Gia. Erik can be an infuriatingly self-centered man. You were right to share with him your feelings. I believe that you can be a good influence on him. It is past time he learned that relationships are not one-sided," the ballet mistress responded.

"Madame Giry---"

"Call me Antoinette, please."

"Antoinette," Gia continued, "I do not know if Erik and I _have_ a relationship. If you will excuse my frankness, but the past two times we have been together, we have done little but argue and make love." Gia was not about to use the word "fuck" in front of the older woman.

Madame Giry was unable to suppress a wide smile, "It can be like that in the beginning. I only hope you are being careful. I cannot imagine you are ignorant of what can result if you are not."

"We are. I insisted and he agreed with me. Antoinette, my biggest concern is that I am just a substitute for what he cannot have with Christine." Her cheeks reddened as she continued, "I have found our encounters very pleasurable, but isn't there supposed to be more than that? I care about Erik a great deal, but I am unsure of his feelings toward me."

"Have you asked him directly? I can tell you this: I do not think Erik would use you in that way. If he had wanted a meaningless encounter, he could have done it years ago with a prostitute."

"Did you know his mother was a prostitute? That might explain why he never went to one," Gia countered, her mind quickly filling with doubts.

Giry was slightly floored by that statement, but she replied, "He never told me about his mother, Gia. For him to confide something like that to you demonstrates he trusts you. Erik does not trust easily. It must have been very difficult for him to reveal that to anyone."

"I suppose you are correct, Antoinette, but we fight all the time. Then he kisses me, and I only care about what will come next. And sometimes he can be so kind and considerate. Today he drew a bath for me and washed my hair. In those moments, I see the man he could be if he let go of his outrage. I understand why he feels the way he does, but why can he not see the future is not written? And he does not believe me when I tell him his face does not bother me."

"You have seen his face? His whole face?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course. I told him I want nothing between us when we are together. The one time he wore it, I made him take it off. Is it that shocking it does not bother me? I would think you of all people would see beyond his deformity. There is far more to him than his face," Gia said forcefully. If even Madame Giry was horrified by his face, no wonder he was so certain he could never really be a part of society.

"I am very pleased that you can look beyond his face, but you must know there are few women who could do that."

"But there is nothing wrong with nearly two-thirds of his face!" Heedlessly, Gia blurted, "And have you seen the rest of him?"

"Not in the same way you have, I'm sure," Madame Giry said most seriously before both of them dissolved into peals of laughter.

The laughter felt good, a welcome release from the tension, but Madame Giry brought Gia back to earth by asking, "Do you want me to see that Christine receives Erik's letter?"

"I would appreciate it, Antoinette. I only hope that she does not hate him. God help us and this place if she shows that letter to her husband," Gia prayed aloud. "Do you know how she feels about Erik?"

Although Madame Giry had been as a mother to Christine, the young woman had spoken little of Erik or the events of two years previous to her. After the initial escape, Christine had been very withdrawn and refused to speak with anyone. Raoul had feared for her health and was certain the Phantom would be the death of her, claiming his final victim from the grave. But after three days self-imposed exile, she emerged from her bedroom as though nothing had ever happened. The only evidence of her inner turmoil some scribblings on parchment that Giry had burned immediately.

She could be certain what reaction Christine would have two years later to his return. She was now happily married and had a child; her life was one of ease and luxury. She probably rarely thought about Erik. However during the dinner, Christine had grown very thoughtful when Gia had mentioned the engagement ring. Giry did not relish bringing up bad memories for her, especially if those memories could harm her or her family. Once again she was putting in a position of choosing between Erik and Christine.

She would tell Christine who the letter was from before she gave it to her. If she did not want it, Giry would have the letter returned to Erik with an explanation of why she had not done his bidding. That way neither Gia nor Christine could be blamed.

"I believe that Christine has never been sure of what her emotions are toward Erik. For a long time I let her believe he was only a spirit. I knew what he was doing, and I let it continue even when I realized he was falling in love with her because I thought she would love him in return. Then, within the space of days she learned that her Angel was real, he wanted her as only a man can want a woman, and her childhood sweetheart arrived.

When she sang with Erik, we all saw the way she responded to his music, his touch, and I was certain she was going to leave with him willingly. It did not seem to be an act, for in truth, she never was much of an actress. When she emerged from the cellars with the viscomte and informed me they were to marry, I was most shocked. But then again, at the time, she probably believed that Erik was dead, or soon would be."

Gia could see that Madame Giry was not going to ease her mind if it meant not telling the truth. It was possible that Christine still had feelings for Erik, and that with their renewed acquaintance she would leave her life behind to be with him. And then Gia would surely lose Erik. Gia could feel her eyes welling with tears, and she quickly said good-bye and made a hasty retreat from the small room.

She did not hear Madame Giry mutter under her breath, "Erik you fool! She's half in love with you already!"


	20. 20

**A/N: Thank you for being so patient waiting for this chapter! I just wasn't feeling very inspired the last couple of days, and it made writing next to impossible.I hope you all enjoy this. As always, please read and review. **

* * *

Gia brushed the tears from her eyes as she made her way toward her room. It would not do for the members of the company to see her in visible distress. She had already given the gossip mongers far too much ammunition over the past few days. She could have a good cry in the privacy of her room once she reached there. That would make her feel better. With that thought in mind, she picked up her pace, knowing the sooner she found the comfort of her own bed, the better. She was so focused on that, she did not notice that someone was waiting for her at her door.

"Another night away from your room, Mlle. Burnside? Whatever will people say?" came the smug voice of Adrienne Leveau.

God, she sounded so satisfied with herself. Gia was in no mood to deal with her, but it seemed she would have to before she could get some measure of peace.

"Adrienne, my comings and goings are none of your business. Now I would appreciate it if you would leave and cease spreading baseless rumors about me. I would not do that to you, no matter what I think of you personally," Gia retorted, but there was not much feeling behind the words.

"You became my business after you contrived to have me shut up in my room yesterday, you bitch! Who did it for you? Your pathetic lover, I imagine. He must be some sort of gypsy to know that much about locks. Either that or he's a criminal. No wonder you have no desire to be seen with him. Or did you give a private performance for one of the handymen now that you've lost your virtue?" the young woman returned snidely, not missing the chance to sneak in a sexual innuendo whenever possible.

Arguing with Adrienne would not solve anything, the more they went back and forth the more determined she would be to try to make a scandal. Gia looked down at Adrienne, and directly into her dark grey eyes, "I had nothing to do with that. I am sure it was an unfortunate coincidence. Why are you so concerned over missing one performance? It was only a matinee, and it wasn't a full house. There were no critics present. I'm sure you received lovely reviews in all the papers."

Playing on the woman's vanity was her best prospect of preventing the situation from escalating further, but Adrienne would have none of it. "Don't try to charm me! You have most of the company fooled, but I am not. They think you're so nice, so quiet. I heard all about what happened yesterday from Claire Margaux. I would not have thought that Michel St. Andre would be interested in you, but then again he'll fuck just about anyone."

If Adrienne would not back down when Gia had given her ample time to retreat, she would have to say something in response. She would not let this barely literate tramp make her feel like a whore for enjoying all she and Erik had shared. "Then why are so jealous of me? I noticed he never kissed you, even in rehearsal. Perhaps he is not interested in going where so many have before," Gia added cattily. "But if it will ease your mind, I am not interested in Michel or anyone else at the Metropolitan for that matter. And you know, my dear, I suggest you keep your voice down, because you never know who might be listening to you," she finished somewhat ominously.

"Or what? You'll arrange for me to have another accident?" Adrienne cackled.

Unwilling to listen to Adrienne any longer, Gia drew out the key to her room, and unlocked the door. She did not even extend the courtesy of a good-bye to the lead mezzo. Gia knew that she should be more respectful to her given her status as principal, but she felt nothing but disdain for the younger woman. If she had continued to converse with the woman, there was an excellent chance they would have come to blows. Gia could more than defend herself, especially given her height and weight advantage over the petite Adrienne, but she had no desire to attract more attention. It was best to simply withdraw. She had won this round anyway.

She closed the door heavily, enjoying the loud sound it made. Even better had been the look on Adrienne's face as it slammed in her face. Gia had always enjoyed a spotless reputation, and she found that to her chagrin, she was rather enjoying being bad. It wasn't simply because she could not seem to get enough of Erik in bed, although that was part of it. She had always been so concerned about ruffling the feathers of the people she worked and lived with that it felt good to finally tell someone like Adrienne what she thought of her. Still, it would not do to make enemies. Gia was fortunate that Adrienne was not particularly well liked. She had made the mistake of throwing her many suitors in the faces of the less attractive chorus members, and as a result most of them were not friendly with her. But Gia had no desire to start a war. She would let Adrienne make her nasty insinuations as long as there was no real proof she had a lover.

In a far better mood than earlier, Gia no longer felt the desire to cry over Erik. Why should she make a fuss over him? He would probably enjoy it if he knew she was in her room shedding tears over him. Christine would make him happy, and if she was willing to give up her family and social position to be with him, Gia could not say that she was unworthy of him. She just could not believe that the woman who had been so in love with her husband a couple nights ago would leave him for anyone. What would her reaction be when she learned that Erik yet lived?

There was nothing for her to do but speculate until Gia received a response from her. That would probably take days. Gia looked around her room, and immediately her eyes strayed to the still made bed. She'd gotten very little sleep over the past few nights, and since Erik had said nothing about coming to her this evening, she might as well rest. She undressed, slipped on her nightgown, then dove beneath the covers. No sooner had her head hit the pillow than she fell asleep.

* * *

Michel Dupoix had not been pleased to find the note from the purported Opera Ghost on his desk. His secretary had informed him that it had been dropped off by Gianna Burnside while he had been having his lunch. How much did she know about this man? Dupoix was not a stupid man. It had not escaped him that the rumors of Gianna having a lover coincided with the emergence of the Phantom who was using her as a go-between. Could this all just be an elaborate plot concocted by Gianna and her lover to become rich?

He did not want to think that she would be capable of doing something like that. But he could not discount the fact that she was intelligent enough to carry out such a scheme. Although he could not describe her as happy, she had always seemed content with her life as a chorus member so it seemed off that she would suddenly become to ambitious. Any ambition she'd ever had was laid aside with her failed ballet career.

Grabbing a pearl inlayed letter opener, he broke the seal on the note. It began rather cordially, congratulating Dupoix on the success of the production of _The Magic Flute_. He had been pleased with it, save for Adrienne Leveau as Papagena. She had a lovely voice but from what he had observed of her character, he felt that Mlle. Burnside deserved a chance to be in the spotlight for a change. He admitted to being the reason that Mlle. Leveau had been detained for the afternoon performance. The note pointedly suggested he find a way to rein in her tongue else other harsher methods might be employed to silence it.

He set the stationary down on his desk while he pondered the meaning of this portion of the note. It was yet more evidence that the mysterious O.G. was simply the guise of the man Gianna had become involved with. Hadn't she also received that dress from Madame Collette's not long after he had made his first salary payment to the Phantom? That was rather damning in and of itself. Had he been so blind as not to notice that Gianna was so desperate for funds that she had decided to steal from him? Dupoix was unsure if he was angrier at her or himself for being duped so easily. He thought of Gia like a daughter. If she had needed financial assistance he would have gladly provided it to her. He had been sure that if she ever did become involved with a man, she would have wanted a proper courtship. But lust can do strange things to people, and Gia was no longer a girl but a fully grown woman.

Who could O.G. be? Michel St. Andre? He was the only man Dupoix had seen display open affection toward her. It would not be the first time the people who portrayed Papagena and Papageno became involved with each other. St. Andre was simply not the kind of man he could ever imagine Gia being with. He had openly chased the skirts of most of the women who made their living from the Metropolitan; every woman from the ballet dancers to the cleaning ladies had not been immune to his attentions. He would not stay faithful to Gia, and she would end up having her heart broken, particularly once he absconded with their ill gotten gains. There were some rather vicious rumors he had racked up some serious debts in the gaming hells.

Dupoix picked up the note, and continued to read it. He gave a loud snort when he read the demands for the next production. He was not about to allow Gianna and her lover dictate anything to him no matter how close he had been to her over the years. Taking the letter with him, he paused a moment to check his appearance in a mirror before heading up to Gia's room to tell her he would not allow this expensive charade to continue.

* * *

Gia couldn't see a thing, but by God, she could feel. A silk blindfold covered her eyes and he had bound her to the bed using several of his cravats. The knots were tight but not so uncomfortable that they would leave marks. She was totally helpless beneath him as he used the opportunity to drive her mad with pleasure. There was no part of her that he had not ravaged with his mouth and hands. He'd even suckled on her toes. She could feel herself straining and arching against the bonds that held her fast. She begged for him to release her so she could touch him, see him, but her request had been met with a nearly breathless "No," and he'd pressed one finger against her lips as a warning not to speak again. In truth a part of her was enjoying this erotic worship of her body.

There was a certain freedom that came with being restrained. She bit her lips to prevent herself from screaming his name as he filled her. Every sensation was heightened as he brought her higher and higher. She could feel him straining with every stroke and his heart was thundering like a team of galloping horses. She could feel the explosion building within her, and when it happened she thought she'd surely die from the force of it. He had quickly followed, and whispered into her ear as he removed the blindfold, "I love you."

Now why wouldn't that pounding sound go away? Realizing it could not be Erik's heart any longer, Gia jerked herself into consciousness. It had all been nothing more than a dream. But the pounding was not. Someone was at her door seeking entry.

She took a quick look at herself in the mirror, and her hair was in total disarray. Then there was the fact she was in her nightgown during the middle of the afternoon. There was no time to change, so she would do her best to explain her appearance to whoever it was. Wishing to get this over with as soon as possible, she went to the door and opened it, only to find Monsieur Dupoix glaring at her. He had not done that since her mother had gone into a panic when she had gone missing for an afternoon when she was six.

"What is the meaning of this note? I am not going to allow you and this man you have become involved with to dictate to me how to run my theater! If you needed money you should have just asked instead of resorting to this foolishness!" he nearly shouted at her.

Gia had never seen Dupoix lose his temper in such a manner. Calmly, she invited him in and asked him to take a seat.

"Monsieur Dupoix, I admit I have delivered some of the notes from the Phantom, but I have no knowledge of their contents. Is he demanding more money from you?" she inquired, trying not to become upset. He was clearly furious with her for some reason.

"Gia, I am not the old fool the two of you think I am. Is Michel St. Andre your partner in crime? He never could have come up with anything like this. This must be your doing."

"Honestly, I have no idea what you are talking about. Why do you think I am involved with the Phantom? I am only doing his bidding because I was concerned with what could happen to me or the opera house if I did not," she lied. She only hoped that she could do a better job convincing him than she had Madame Giry.

"Ever since this 'Phantom' has made his appearance, you have been benefiting from his involvement. Not long after I paid him, you are seen wearing a rather extravagant dinner gown from one of the finest modiste's in Paris. Then Adrienne Leveau is locked in her room for a performance allowing you to go on in her place. He even admitted in this letter that he did it so you could replace her. He even threatens to do more harm to her if she doesn't behave herself. Finally, there are his latest demands," he said as he shook the note at her.

Gia asked if he would show her the letter and he acquiesced after a short derisive snort. Erik had told her he was only going to praise the production and mention why he had briefly imprisoned Adrienne. He had said nothing about new demands. Had he lied to her? She pored over the note, rereading the final paragraph twice in order to allow it to sink in. It read as follows:

_I have been pondering what should be the Metropolitan's next production. I find that I am not in the mood to see another opera. You will instead give a performance of Adolphe Adam's "Giselle". Now that you have Madame Giry at your disposal this place should be capable of mounting a decent production. I'm sure you will agree the only person capable of filling the title role is Madame Giry's daughter Marguerite. I also insist that Gianna Burnside be given the role of Myrta, Queen of the Wilis. She has been absent from the ballet far too long. You should find her most amenable to my suggestion._

_I am anxiously awaiting the first performance which will take place in two weeks time._

_I remain, your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

Had Erik taken complete leave of his senses? He was demanding that she fill the largest solo role in the ballet after ten years of no real training. She supposed she should thank God he had not insisted she play Giselle. That would have been a complete disaster. The multiple pas de deux would have been ridiculous with the male dancers straining to lift her. She could play Myrta without much contact with other dancers if the ballet was carefully choreographed. Still, she was too old to be playing such a physically demanding role. The turns alone would be the death of her. And with only two weeks to practice? She would have laughed if it would not have angered Mr. Dupoix. This would not have happened if he had not seen her dancing in that damned practice room.

"You must believe me that this comes as much a shock to me as it does to you. Why would I want to embarrass myself publicly? I have not performed in a ballet for nearly ten years. How could I benefit from something like this?" she said, hoping he would see the logic of her argument.

"But Gia, is this not the action that a lover would take? He has obviously heard that you once had a great deal of desire to be a ballerina and he wishes to give you one final chance in the spotlight. It is precisely the sort of thing that would come up during the afterglow of sex when lovers share their deepest, most hidden secrets. I have no objection to the ballet itself. It has been a long time since we have done a production of it, and it remains quite popular. However, I will not see myself ruined by the outrageous demands of a man in love!"

Gia could only sit, her mouth agape. Was Erik in love with her? His demands were incredibly similar to the actions he had taken previously at the Populaire. Only then he was seeking to promote Christine Daaé. No, he was doing this because he knew this was one of her fondest dreams. If he could not fulfill his, he would do it through her. It was rather touching in a twisted way. She would tell him that a gesture like this was not necessary.

"I know you think that I am involved with this 'O.G.', but I assure you, I am not. If I had known of his plans, I would have told him he was making a mistake. When I see him again I shall tell him that I cannot play Myrta and that should settle things. I only want what is best for this place. I will find a way to reason with him."

Dupoix was rather surprised that Gianna had become so shaken by the note. Had he so misjudged her? It seemed she was as much a pawn as he was in this chess game that the Phantom was bent on playing. "Gia, mayhap you could convince him that you should play a smaller role. You could ably play Giselle's mother even if you are out of practice," he added helpfully. He then apologized to her, "I should have not been so hasty in assuming that you were involved with this man. But you must admit I had a good reason to be suspicious."

At that Gia gave him a small smile. "You would not be a good manager if you did not think that something strange was going on. The coincidences are rather fantastic. I am glad that you do not believe I would do something like this."

"It did seem rather out of character. But after what happened to Adrienne I could not be so sure. If nothing, I would say this Opera Ghost seems rather taken with you. I hope you are being careful around him. If he is the same man from the Populaire, I would imagine he will be unhappy when you tell him you will not perform as he expected," he said, his voice tinged with concern. She could be risking her life if she angered him, and Dupoix did not want her death on his hands.

"I am not afraid of him Mr. Dupoix. And I have every reason to believe he is who he claims to be. Sometimes I think he is nothing more than an overgrown child with his demands. But I realize he is a dangerous man." Dupoix seemed relieved by this bit of news and he quietly left the room. Now he would have to go about the process of informing the investors of what the next production would be, and that would be sure to raise some eyebrows. The Metropolitan had not mounted a full scale ballet in five seasons, mostly because the corps de ballet had not been good enough, but also because they could be dreadfully expensive.

Gia's first thought was to lock the door, than go through the wardrobe and head down to Erik's lair with the letter that Dupoix had left behind. She wanted some answers from him. He had deliberately deceived her, and he was putting her at risk. She did not need his assistance. Her career had been fine before he had arrived and began making a general mess of things. However, to get to Erik's domain would mean crossing the expanse of the sewers, and without the boat it would not be wise to attempt it.

All she could do was sit and wait for him to make his nightly visit. Tonight, she would be the one to catch him off balance.


	21. 21

**A/N: Once again, please forgive the time between posting. Although I finished this yesterday, I've been rather busy getting ready for Easter which accounts for some of the delay. You should be happy to know I am already at work on the next chapter. As always, thank you for your patience and reviews. Much love to interminablesadness for her awesome beta skills.**

* * *

Initially Gia tried to relax by reading one of her favorite books, a collection of Greek and Roman mythology, but found it impossible to concentrate adequately. The story of Eros and Psyche hit far too close to home at the moment, and she found herself casting the book rather recklessly aside when Eros leaves Psyche for the sin of looking upon his face. Psyche had been convinced by her jealous sisters that her lover and husband was a monster, and one night after they made love she lit an oil lamp as Eros slept so she might gaze upon his face. Instead of a hideous visage, she gazed upon the son of Aphrodite and Adonis, but the hot oil dripped onto his shoulder and he abandoned her for not trusting him. Although she did not continue reading, Gia knew the outcome of the story. Eventually Psyche wins him back, but only after she travels to the underworld on an errand for Aphrodite to prove the depth of her love for Eros.

Erik thought himself a monster when in truth he was far closer to being like Eros. If anything, his physical imperfections made him more desirable to her. But then again, if Erik's right side matched his left he would not be with her at all. He would have been married to whatever woman he chose.

Christine.

It was inevitable that her thoughts would turn to the viscomtess now that she was alone again. But that was not the most pressing matter. Gia rose from her chair and picked up the book that she had tossed aside. It had fallen awkwardly, and lay open to an illustration of the three goddesses parading before Paris who was to judge who was the fairest. He had chosen Aphrodite who had promised him the love of the most beautiful woman alive over Hera and Athena who had promised him power and wisdom. Gia could not even offer that to Erik. She returned to book to its place on the shelf and made a mental note not to look it again for a while.

What could she say to convince him that this production of _Giselle_ would be a disaster of epic proportions if she played such a large role? He was a stubborn man, and would not be swayed easily. And besides, if she refused to do his bidding, God only knew how he would demonstrate his wrath. Gia could not even be certain his rage would be limited to her. She was no coward though; he had gone too far this time with his silly demands. The only good thing was that _Giselle_ would be a wonderful showcase for the ballet and Meg Giry in particular. The ballet was quite popular and if the reviews were good the Metropolitan would stand to make a tidy profit. However, if it was panned, the cost of failure would be high. To stage the production new sets and costumes would have to be made, and Madame Giry might even need to hire more dancers to fill some of the roles. All of that would cost money that the theater could ill afford to lose no matter how successful it had been recently.

Unable to sit still Gia paced back and forth across the small room, her feet making light noises as she walked back and forth endlessly. There had to be a way for her to assure that the production would go well and satisfy the mercurial Erik. What could she offer him in exchange for altering his demands? She had freely given him her body, and there was nothing else she had that he wanted. This put her at a decided disadvantage.

As much as she hated to do it, she could offer to procure Christine for him. But the very thought turned her stomach, and he might require her to do that anyway. Suddenly she seized upon an idea that might appeal to him if she presented it to him properly, however she had little time to formulate a plan as she could hear scraping noises coming from behind her wall.

* * *

Although they had made no formal plans to meet that evening, Erik saw no reason to abandon their routine. He felt slightly uneasy because they had not parted on the best of terms. Gia was clearly jealous of Christine and his feelings for her, and he was not exactly sure why. She claimed to care about him, and she had been the one to initiate the conversation, yet she had reprimanded him for not being more solicitous of her feelings. Gia had told him he needed to move on with his life, and he felt he had.

He had left Paris for a time, and he had made a new life for himself at the Metropolitan. He was not pining away for Christine. He had established an adult relationship with another woman, one who did not cringe when she looked upon his face. A woman whose life had been nearly as difficult as his own, and whose pain he longed to soothe in the only way he knew how. Every time they were intimate there was a ferocity about the way they came together, and it was only in the afterglow where either seemed to find peace. It was not what he had expected sex would be like.

Intellectually he knew that it would be pleasurable, but nothing could have prepared him for what it would be like to sink into the hot wet depths of a woman who was panting for him and moaning his name, begging him to bring her release. He had assumed that physical passion would be more tender, but when he was with Gia, it was the farthest thing from his mind. He was always seeking to go harder, drive deeper, and she met him every single time. Perhaps it was a function of their ages. They had both been celibate far longer than most people. Now that they had found someone to share the ecstasy that only two people could bring each other, there was a drive to take love making to its extremes. Not that he would ever say they had truly made love.

How different his two women were! What Erik sought from Christine was closure. He felt that she should know her tutor still lived. If that would drive her into his arms, so be it. He would not physically try to take her again. If she came to him, it would be of her own volition. What a laugh he would have at the expense of the boy then! But if she stayed with him that would be her decision. This time they would have the chance to say a proper farewell so he could finally close the book on that part of his life.

Erik's thoughts wandered to Gia and he wondered if Dupoix would go to her and tell her about the note. He had not been entirely truthful when she asked him about the letter because he had wanted it to be a surprise. She would be thrilled to have the opportunity to demonstrate she was as skilled a dancer as ever. If he could have thought of a way for her play Giselle he would have insisted on it, but there was no way around the pas de deux. She would make a magnificent Myrta with her long arms and legs. True she was not the ideal body type because her size made her less than ethereal, but she possessed an elegant strength that would more than make up for it. People would only have to see her dance and they would know what a woman she was.

It would most likely be his final gift to her. Gia would surely find another lover after she took the stage. A wealthy widower or perhaps even his younger son would make her honorable offer to become his mistress. He would encourage her not to refuse it. She deserved to finally find some financial security. If he thought she would accept it, he would have given her money, but she had made her feelings about such things clear. Perhaps a man would even offer her marriage. The thought of her becoming a wife and mother made his lips curl into a smile as he arrived on the landing behind the wardrobe.

He made quick work of the mechanism that led into the wardrobe and he soon found himself in Gia's room. He had not expected to find her waiting for him. She was not even sitting on her bed or in a chair reading a book despite the fact she was dressed for bed. From the look in her eyes he surmised that Dupoix had already paid her a visit and told her of his plans. She did not appear to be pleased or grateful for his intervention.

"Do you realize what you have done? Dupoix was here accusing me of being behind this!" she said as she shook the note before his face. She launched into a tirade before he could respond. "He believed this was a scheme dreamt up by me to extort money from him and get attention for myself. I must admit had I not known the truth I would have drawn the same conclusions from your rash actions. You need to consider how your actions affect others, Erik!"

"What did you tell him?" he inquired.

"I told him I knew nothing of the contents of the letters and that I only deliver them. I told him you were not my lover and that if I had known of your plans I would have urged you to take other action. He was willing to believe me. For now. But if I continue to mysteriously benefit from the intervention of O.G. I doubt he will ever give credence to anything I say."

As Erik listened to her rant he could not help noticing how deliciously disheveled she looked in her nightgown. He recalled the first time he saw her in it, and how then it had been buttoned up and securely fasted at the neck. Today the collar lay open giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her neck. Her hair was unbound and wild, the way he preferred it. If she wasn't so damned angry with him he would have pushed her up against the door and had her on the spot.

Since Erik made no move to interrupt her, Gia continued, "And this plan of yours is utterly ridiculous! You expect a company that has not performed a ballet in five seasons to do so in two weeks time? You ask the impossible. You know how long it takes to prepare a decent production. The poor seamstresses would have to work round the clock to complete the costumes in time and there would be barely enough time to rehearse!"

Erik had to concede that she was correct. Damn her and her cleverness! He did not want Gia to look foolish on stage, nor would he bring shame to Madame Giry and her daughter. "Then what do you suggest my dear?" he asked earnestly.

"The company will need at least a month." At least he was not so irrational that he could not see that more time was needed. She had been prepared to offer him almost anything he desired within reason if it would convince him to give the company more time to prepare the ballet.

"Done then. You may tell Dupoix that I have granted you an added two weeks to prepare," he said with a small sigh. His eyes brightened to a vivid green and he advanced toward her, "Do not think I did not notice you said "the company" and not "we" Gia. You will perform with them. You are a part of the ballet now."

His penetrating gaze was making her weak in the knees. It spoke of dark desires and endless nights wound in the silk sheets of his bed. When he looked at her that way she had to fight to use her reason for his call on her body was that powerful. She looked away to escape the thrall of his gaze. Instead she looked over his shoulder and at the reflection of her face in the mirror.

"Erik, I beg you to reconsider. You know I would not use the word "beg" lightly. Even with a month to prepare I will make a fool of myself."

"I have faith that you will do nothing but be a credit to this place. Madame Giry can work wonders in a month. Not that she should have to push you that much, you are your own worst critic," he added rather coldly.

"Yet another quality we seem to have in common," she snapped back at him. "I am ten years out of practice!" Gia fervently hoped that the exasperation in her voice would convince him to change his mind, but Erik was having none of it.

"In all those years, did you ever stop practicing?" he asked her. She still refused to look at him in the eyes. If there was anything that irritated him it was when someone would not look at him directly. Using one gloved hand he brought his hand under her chin so she would have to look at him. As he did this he whispered softly, "Look at me Gia. See me."

Faced with his green-gold stare and the feel of his soft leather gloves against her skin, she visibly softened. "No I didn't. Much to my everlasting shame, I could not leave my childhood dreams behind. It seems now I am being punished for them."

"Do you truly believe I am doing this because I get a perverse pleasure from watching people fail? There is nothing worse than sitting through a miserable performance at the theater. Why do think I am willing to give you an extension? It seems I am growing soft in my old age."

Gis reached up and caressed his face without even thinking about it. "You aren't old Erik," she said as her fingers brushed up against his mask. The porcelain was so cold and unyielding, just as he was at this moment. One hand combed through his chocolate brown hair and she brushed her index finger along his warm lush mouth.

He drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected contact, but he quickly recovered, saying, "My dear Mlle. Burnside, I believe you are trying to seduce me. Two can play this little game." He brought his hands up so he became her mirror image. He made no move to kiss her, he only looked into her darkening blue eyes as he touched her mouth with a single finger. Which one of them would break first and end this sweet torture?

Gia did not want to be the person to succumb. Hoping to force his hand she ran her tongue along the seam of her mouth so it would graze his finger. Her simple action made his burgeoning erection rock hard. Tonight they would not make it to his bed. He was unwilling to give up so easily, and he repeated what she did to him. Gia would swear the spark his touch generated traveled directly from her sensitive lips to somewhere below her waist. Simultaneously they reached for each other, needing to be as close as possible.

Gia made short work of his coat, cravat, and waistcoat, and quickly moved to unfasten his trousers as she felt his mouth against her throat. Before he could even think about removing his shirt, she had taken his cock in her hands and was stroking him. She even slipped one hand down to cup his balls, which left him gasping, "If you keep doing that I'm going to come all over that nightgown."

"I know."

She was working him faster now, and he could not stop himself from bucking against her, desperate to create even more friction. He loudly moaned, "Oh God don't stop! Don't ever stop!" as she increased the pressure. He could feel his release looming just over the horizon, and there was no way to stop it at this point. He tried to jerk away from her when he exploded, trying to spare her nightgown, but she held him fast. Erik slumped against her, feeling defeated. What sort of man was he if he could not control his release?

After a moment, he noticed that Gia was breathing rather heavily in his ear. How could that have brought her any pleasure? Grasping her arms firmly, he backed her up to he edge of her bed, and forced her to sit down. He drew up her nightgown, revealing she was wearing nothing underneath. He removed his right glove using his mouth, leaving his left hand on her shoulder as he knelt before her. He could see the moisture dripping from her hidden curls, and seeking to bring her the same relief he inserted two thick fingers inside her as he used his thumb against the bundle of nerves at her center. She was so close, it did not take long before her back was arching deeply and she was quivering all around him.

If someone had walked in at that moment, neither would have cared. He got up from his knees, covered her up again and they simply sat there holding each other for several moments, not speaking.

He broke the awkward silence by apologizing for ruining her nightgown. Gia blushed prettily, then got up, grabbed a fresh one from her wardrobe, and changed behind her screen. He heard the sound of water being poured into a basin, and he realized she was putting the nightgown in to soak. How could she be so damned level headed after what they had just done? He supposed she had to be since she didn't exactly have the luxury of wasting anything as she had grown up. It occurred to him that he should see to his own appearance since at the moment he was sitting there fully exposed with his trousers undone. It only took a few seconds to adjust himself, and then he waited patiently for her to emerge.

Her task accomplished, Gia returned to Erik's side, wanting to feel his arms around her again. As much as she reveled in the feelings he had aroused in her, it was the quiet moments she cherished the most. He pulled her to his chest and they both lay down on top of her covers. She turned so she could look at him and touch him at the same time as she spoke.

"Erik, do you really think I play Myrta?"

"Yes."

"Would you lie to me about something like this the way you lied to me about the note?"

"No," he said as found himself drowning in the depths of her eyes. They were so wide and open, so unsure of themselves. He could not lie to her when she looked at him like that. He kissed her, this time gently and slowly, and as she parted her lips to receive his tongue he could feel hot tears streaming down her face. He wiped them away as he cradled her face in his hands. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know. I just feel so overwhelmed right now. At this moment I don't know whether to laugh or cry, and I seem to have chosen tears," she said trying to choke them back.

"I am upsetting you. I will leave." He made to pull away from her, but Gia reached out to him and took his hand.

"No Erik, please stay with me. Spend the night with me, here in my bed. I just want to be close to you," she pleaded with him. "I will understand if you want to go since we can't really do anything here, but I would lo---appreciate it if you would stay."

Erik lay back down beside her, keeping his hand entwined with hers. "If you wish me to stay, I shall stay. I just do not want to bring you any discomfort. I do not like seeing you cry," he said quietly. She could not know what it meant to him that she had asked he not leave her.

Gia could say nothing, but she used her free hand to remove his mask then she simply looked at his bare face for a moment before she leaned forward to place a light kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Thank you Erik."

"You are most welcome, Gia," he replied, tucking her under his chin and pulling her against him. It felt good having her beside him even if they both had their clothes on. He found himself singing to her the duet she had shared with Michel St. Andre in _The Magic Flute_ and she sang back to him. They fell asleep that way, with words of love on their lips, no thoughts of what lay ahead in the coming days.

Earlier in the afternoon, in a room in the ballet dormitories, Madame Giry had put together a packet of letters to send to Christine. It included a letter from Meg, a short missive from her detailing who the third letter was from, urging Christine to send it back if she did not want to read it, and of course, Erik's letter. She told Christine she would deal with Erik if he became angry. The packet assembled, she carefully made her way down to Monsieur Dupoix's office and placed it in the out-going mail.

It would reach Christine in a mere two days time.


	22. 22

**A/N: Here is my latest effort. As always, I hope my readers enjoy it, and you find the time to write me a quick review. Your comments always mean so much to me.**

* * *

Two days later, following the final performance of _The Magic Flute_ Monsieur Dupoix announced, as the Metropolitan tradition dictated, the next production to the entire company. A collective gasp went up when he revealed that it would be the ballet _Giselle_. The only people who had known beforehand were himself, Madame Giry, her daughter Meg, Gianna Burnside, and Monsieur Reyer. There was further uproar when he announced that some key casting had already been determined: Meg Giry would play the title role and Gianna Burnside would play Myrta, Queen of the Wilis. He quickly assured the very nervous members of the chorus that they would not be without employment during the next month. Any of the chorus members with dance training were invited to audition for roles in the corps de ballet. Anyone who would not be dancing would be temporarily reassigned for the coming month; some would join the stage crew, others make sets and props, and some of the women would join the costuming team. This juggling of staff would allow the opera to keep down costs and prevent the company from losing any valuable personnel.

Auditions were set to begin the next day but there was little suspense involved since the most crucial casting had been done. There were only two men who could possibly play the Albrecht/Loys and Hilarion, so the competition would simply be who would gain the leading role. Far more interesting would be which of the opera singers would manage to meet Madame Giry's strict standards and find work in the corps or possibly in a minor role. But the main gossip whirling through the building was that the orphaned former dancer, turned chorus member, Gia Burnside would have such a large role. Adrienne Leveau was vocally predicting a disaster but it was noted by many that she herself was planning to audition the next day. Most felt it was sour grapes on her part that Gia had found a way to get the best of her yet again.

To explain why Gia had been cast, Madame Giry explained that she had observed her dancing after hours in one of the practice rooms and felt that with some practice she would make a fine soloist. When Dupoix informed her that _Giselle_ was to be performed, she had immediately thought of Gia to play Myrta. The mixture of half-truths and outright lies was plausible enough to most of the company that there would be no need to explain that the production and the casting had been dictated by the Opera Ghost. In a late night meeting between Dupoix, Reyer, and Madame Giry it had been decided that no mention should be made of the Phantom unless absolutely necessary. Even Meg was left in the dark, only told that she would be playing Giselle and not the reason why.

Gia was astonished that several company members congratulated her on being cast as Myrta. As it turned out, her late night activities had not been as secret as she had imagined. A few of the older chorus members told her they had seen her dancing several years earlier and had thought it was a shame that she was no longer a dancer. Gia thanked them for their words of encouragement and added that her only hope was that she did not embarrass herself or the Metropolitan. She was older now not as nimble as she once was. Her twice a week indulgence could not take the place of regular training.

She was not looking forward to her first practice. The more uncharitable company members would be sure to report her every mistake and misstep. Not to mention the fact her body was not used to constant exercise. Although, she thought with a smile, perhaps her activities with Erik might help in that department. She had to admit that since they began sleeping together her muscles felt more stretched, and she had more energy despite all the physical exertion. Gia doubted that would continue once rehearsals began in earnest. She would be exhausted in the evenings and he would not be. Poor Erik, he was going to be in for a month of frustration! He should have thought of that before he insisted she play such a large role.

She reflected on the night they had spent in her room sleeping side by side and how she had asked him to stay with her. She had cried when he agreed to stay with her. Her feelings toward Erik confused her. There were times when she had been certain it was nothing more than lust, and other times she wanted to throttle him for being so thoughtless. But increasingly whenever he took her in his arms she felt a funny tug on her heart. She looked forward to his visits and her thoughts often strayed to him during the day. Even with her limited experience with men Gia knew that she was falling in love with him. He would break her heart in the end that was certain, she simply would have do her best to keep the full measure of her feelings from him.

Erik might like her, he might even care for her, but she was certain he did not love her, and was not likely to. His feelings toward Christine were still very strong, and there was the very real possibility that she might return his affections once she realized he was alive. She did not want to consider what might happen if Christine rejected him again. However, perhaps now that she had shown him that he was not repulsive to women, he would not have such a violent reaction. If she had done anything to make Erik realize his true worth as a human being then their brief love affair would have done a great deal of good. At least that was what she had been telling herself lately to justify her agreeing to submit to his desire to see her dance.

Gia needed to get her rest. Madame Giry had requested she attend the auditions tomorrow and once those were over, the first rehearsal would begin. Looking at her wardrobe, Gia pulled out the toe shoes that Erik had given her. She had better prepare them for the coming days or else she truly would look a fool during rehearsal. Gia went into her sewing basket, fished out a pair scissors and went to work.

* * *

Piquet the head footman brought the packet of letters to the viscomtess on a sterling silver platter. She was seated in the day room which faced east, allowing it to be flooded with sunlight despite the fact it was not yet noon. The interior was elegant and extremely expensive. The master had insisted on only the best for his young wife who often chided him for being too free with his fortune when it came to her. His response was only to laugh and then run out and purchase her yet another pretty bauble. The local jeweler joked he could retire on what he had made in the last two years alone.

The viscomtess was dressed in a dress of light blue peau de soie silk and she was staring out the window, lost in thought. She did not even turn her head when he entered the room. It was only when he gently cleared his throat as he put the tray before her did she say anything to him. She thanked him for the letters, and he withdrew, leaving her alone with them. Piquet knew she would want privacy given that the letters came from Madame Giry and her daughter. Outside of the invitations the young mistress was constantly receiving from the local gentry to attend the latest salons and parties, they were the only letters she had. He reflected her life must be a rather lonely one, but at least she had her son and husband as a comfort. Besides, it was not really his business anyway. A good servant does not dwell on the inner life of his masters.

Christine gently opened the package and was surprised to find three letters rather than the usual two. She then recalled that she had asked Gianna Burnside to write to her, and it would make sense that she would include her letters with Madame Giry's. The first letter was from Meg and it was light and breezy and full of the latest opera gossip. She mentioned that Gianna had gotten to play the role of Papagena when Adrienne Leveau was mysteriously locked in her room. No one had been able to figure out how it had happened, but no one cared much since she was so disagreeable. Meg mentioned that it reminded her of the pranks the Phantom used to play at the Populaire and it had frightened several of the ballet girls.

Christine set the letter down a moment and smiled. It _did_ sound like something Erik would have done. He never could abide performers who were full of themselves. Only he was allowed that luxury.

God, she missed him!

He had been an integral part of her life for a long time, and to have him cut away so quickly had been extremely painful. She had not loved him as he had wanted her to, but she had cared for him a great deal. If it had not been for him, she might have never survived her troubled childhood. There had been times when she had been so alone that her greatest desire had been to fling herself from the top of the building and end her life. But then he would come to her, sing to her, and encourage her to do the same.

The one question that had plagued her in the days following the Don Juan disaster was: Would she have fallen in love with him if not for Raoul? She had certainly felt something for him that first night he revealed himself to her. At the time, her emotions had confused her, but now she knew what it was.

Lust.

The way he had touched her had awakened in her feelings she had not known existed. Christine had not known a great deal about sex, but she had felt his yearning for her from the moment she took his hand. And for a time, she had yearned to be with him. That night as she lay in his bed, she had dreamed of being with him. It had excited her so that somehow she removed her stockings in her sleep. But then next morning she removed his mask, and his temper had scared her so very much. Not his face, which had been a dreadful shock, but the fact he flipped so quickly from being caught up in his music to suddenly cursing her was the signal to her something was not entirely healthy about his feelings for her.

She had not fallen in love with Raoul simply because of his attractiveness, or because he was the safer choice. His love was unconditional and steady; he never wavered from his promise to love her until he died. With Erik there had been an intensity that drew her to him, but she knew her feelings could never approach his level. He should be with someone who loved him as fiercely as he loved them. She had agonized over her choice for three long days in her bedroom, and even then she had not always been sure she had made the correct decision. However when the time came to make her vows before God, Christine had known she had made the right choice. From that day on, she did not regret her decision.

She finished reading Meg's letter then set it aside. The next two letters were bundled together, which seemed rather strange. The letter on the outside was from Madame Giry, she recognized the handwriting immediately, but the second one was on plain parchment with a seal she did not recognize, and it did not look to be from Gianna. Christine began reading the note from Madame Giry and it made her blood run cold. She could actually feel the color draining from her cheeks, but she could not stop reading.

The letter was direct and to the point: Erik was very much alive and had taken up residence in the Metropolitan Opera house. She added that he not openly revealed himself as yet and that almost no one knew of his existence. Madame Giry had received his letter from Gianna Burnside who had become his main confidante. Neither of them had any idea what the letter said, but Madame Giry said that if Christine found the prospect of bringing up the past too painful, she should return the note still sealed and she would see he received it. Christine appreciated that Madame Giry would be so concerned for her, but knowing that Erik had not perished two years ago as she had feared was a great comfort. She had felt terribly guilty with his death weighing heavily on her conscience. She owed it to him to read whatever he had to say to her.

She opened the letter gingerly and found herself smiling at the familiar script. The letter read as follows:

_My dearest Christine:_

_Please accept my belated felicitations on the birth of your child, Philippe. I only learned of his birth recently from Madame Giry or I would have contacted you before this. But he is not my primary reason for writing to you. I know that this must be something of a shock to you, but I do not wish to cause you any alarm. You and your child have nothing to fear from me. I could never harm anything or anyone that was a part of you. I write to humbly beg your forgiveness for everything that happened two years ago. I behaved like the monster I accused myself of being. You had every right to reject me and leave with the viscomte after what I did to you both._

_The memories of that night have haunted me no matter where I have gone to try to escape them. I thought that being away from Paris would lessen the pain, and to some extent it did, but I found that I missed the city dreadfully. Hence, my recent return. You have never been far from my thoughts, dear child, and I hope this missive finds you in good health. _

_It is my fondest wish that we renew our acquaintance, and I understand that there may be some reluctance on your part given the past. I assure you, I only want to see you so we may speak face to face for a final time. I find there are some things that cannot be said in a letter. I know that you came to Paris recently to visit Madame Giry and Meg, and I hope that you will come again when the Metropolitan gives its next performance. I am sure that husband of yours will be most amenable to the suggestion if you make it. Men never could resist you._

_I should not have to tell you to guard this letter and prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. The safest course of action would be for you to burn it immediately. If you wish to reply (which I pray you do) simply send your letter to me to Madame Giry and I am certain she will see to it I receive it._

_I am, as ever, your obedient servant,_

_Erik._

Christine found herself reading the letter over and over, hoping to discover the true meaning behind the words. It was all so civilized, and yet the tone was unmistakably Erik. It was the fact that he was asking for forgiveness that struck her deeply. Was it possible he had changed so much in the intervening years? Could he have realized how wrong he had been to try to steal her away from the world? It strained credulity to think so, but Christine sincerely believed that men were always capable of change.

What she found disturbing was that despite his promises never to hurt her or Philippe he made no such promise about Raoul. Perhaps he knew she would never have believed that he was ready to forgive him as well. That would have rung false in her ears. Still, it was clear Erik did not care for her husband, and that meant that he might yet try to take him away from her. But he had stated in his letter that his main purpose in writing was to simply renew their relationship so that they might meet a final time. Dare she believe that he had no ulterior motives? Erik always had a plan that she did not doubt.

Despite her very real misgivings, she would contact him. There was the chance that he had changed, and if that was so, she could not turn a blind eye to that. He had given to her selflessly and had not asked for anything in return for a long time. Granted what he had wanted had been something she was not capable of bestowing. But she could write to him. It was not an unreasonable request. She could not tell her husband, he would not understand. Seeing him was out of the question though, that she would tell him.

As much as she would like to begin going to Paris on a more regular basis, Raoul might be suspicious if she asked to return so quickly. Christine would do as Erik suggested and burn his letter at her nearest convenience. She did not like the idea of keeping secrets from her husband, the man she had shared her most intimate thoughts with since she had been married. He had become her lover and best friend and holding anything back from him would be difficult. He would have only to look at her with his trusting deep blue eyes and all her inner defenses would crumble.

It was only this small matter of Erik that he had never understood, and with good reason. She had once tried to explain to him the hold he had once had on her, and had been only able to shake his head in disgust. How could she have not known her Angel of Music and the Phantom were not the same person? It all seemed perfectly logical to him. She had forgiven him for his lack of understanding though. Raoul had never lost a parent. He had no idea what it meant to be alone in the world and to wish for anything to alleviate the crushing loneliness.

Hearing the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, Christine shoved Erik's letter down the front of her dress, hoping it would conceal it adequately until she could dispose of it later. A baby's giggle punctuated the steps. Raoul had to be carrying Philippe on his shoulders again. He would never learn to walk if people carried him everywhere!

Raoul's voice came strong and sure, a laugh never far behind. "How are you this fine morning, my love? Piquet tells me you received some letters from Madame Giry and Meg this morning. I trust they are well."

She replied perhaps too quickly, "I am fine, thank you. And from their letters they seem to be fine as well."

"May I read them?" he inquired. Christine usually shared their letters with him once she was finished with them.

Panic seized her. He could not read Madame Giry's letter. She had stupidly forgotten its contents were nearly as bad as Erik's. She passed Meg's letter to him, and said, "Madame Giry asked me not to show her letter to anyone. I know it's highly irregular, and in truth, there is nothing very exciting in it, but I will do as she asks because I regard her as a mother."

Raoul's mouth briefly turned down into a frown, but he nodded seemingly accepting her explanation. He passed Philippe to Christine to hold as he read Meg's letter. It was a shame he and Christine had not stayed in town longer or they would have had the opportunity to see Gianna Burnside sing a larger role. Meg's allusion to the Phantom did bother him though. He had not forgotten all he had nearly lost that night. But the man was dead, and now he and Christine had nothing left to fear. He turned to look at his wife, and her beauty never failed to stun him. Her dark curls were bathed in morning light bringing out the caramel highlights. She held their child under his arms and bounced him on her lap, her eyes and skin lit with a maternal glow and a happy smile on her face. To him, she was the most beautiful of God's creations.

"Did you receive anything from Gianna Burnside? I know you asked her to write to you."

His question caught her off guard, and she became momentarily flustered. "N—no, she did not write to me. I am not surprised though. I think the very idea of corresponding with a viscomtess was rather daunting for her. I hope she will do so in the future though."

"I hope so too. She seemed a lovely woman. And she survived what must have been a difficult childhood quite well. I found her far more interesting than all those so called ladies always asking you to tea." At this his wife laughed, but he had noticed how disturbed she was when he asked about another letter. He had only asked because Piquet had mentioned to him that the packet was fairly large, and from what he had seen, Meg and Madame Giry's letters could not have been very long. Was she hiding something from him? Why? To his knowledge she had never done that before. Nevermind, if it was important she would tell him eventually. She knew she could trust him with anything.

But as he took their child in his arms, Raoul could not help being uneasy for the first time since he had become married. Secrets were not good for a marriage.


	23. 23

**A/N: Once again, sorry for taking so long to update. My father is an accountant, and he's quite busy doing taxes at this time of year, and he's been monopolizing my laptop the past couple days. I hope you all forgive me, and enjoy the latest installment. As always, please read and review.**

* * *

Gia had found it difficult to sleep even though she was well aware the next day would be tiring. She had labored over prepping her toe shoes far longer than necessary. Once she removed the satin tips and replaced it with fabric that would slide less against the polished wood floors, she sewed in the ribbons that she would lace around her ankles. Since the ribbon would run if not singed on the ends, she did so using a candle. Finally, she put the shoes on, which meant wrapping her toes in lamb's wool so that she could break them in a bit before the first rehearsal. Unfortunately, the ceilings were so low that she could barely walk around the room because she had to hunch her shoulders over, which only gave her a crick in the neck. The ceilings were higher in the hall, but she did not want anyone to see her. The shoes might be a bit stiffer than she would have liked, but it would have to do under the circumstances. The only upside was that they might last a bit longer because they would not be quite as worn. That reminded her, she would have to make a trip to the dance shop because she would need multiple pairs of pointe slippers for the upcoming weeks. It never ceased to amaze her how long it took to take a nearly pristine pair of shoes and damage them. An hour ago, there had not been a mark on them, but now they were dirty with singed toes. So much for the glamour of ballet!

During the night she tossed and turned, finding it difficult to become comfortable. Erik had not come that night, perhaps sensing that she was not in the mood for company. More likely he simply wanted her to get her rest so she did not embarrass him. Gia managed to snatch a couple hours sleep, and rose at first light. She put on her old dressing gown as she sat before her vanity to arrange her hair. She tugged a brush through the stubborn curls that immediately frizzed as the bristles ran through them. Once her hair was as straight as she could make it, she secured her hair in a low queue at the nape of her neck. From there she twisted it into a rough chignon and secured it with multiple pins. She hoped it would hold because she imagined Madame Giry would not look well on a dancer with a messy coiffure.

With that complete, Gia took out her practice outfit and stockings. The stockings were of durable cotton, which would unfortunately be rather hot for practice. Silk would be better, but not practical. Stockings would often tear, and cotton ones could be darned unlike silk which would have to be discarded because it ran. The practice uniform was white, or at least, it used to be. It was now a light grey and sweat stained under the arms despite the fact she always washed it after practicing. The top was sleeveless with a deep scoop neck in the front. The tulle skirt fell from her hips and fell just beyond her knees, a trifle shorter than it should be. Looking at herself in the mirror, it was as if ten years had not passed. She might look older, but her body looked roughly the same. It was a bit soft in the arms and middle, but she had no doubt they would firm up over the month. Finally, she put on her the pink leather practice slippers. Toe shoes were never worn to begin class. She took those with her, along with a towel and headed down to the practice rooms where the auditions were to be held.

Madame Giry and Meg had already arrived and the ballet mistress was busily lighting the gas lamps. Meg gave Gia an odd look up and down, but gave her a quick smile and cheerfully scolded, "Mlle. Burnside your skirt is too short! Maman shall not approve!"

"I know. This is what comes of having someone as tall as I dancing. If I could afford a new uniform I would have to have a skirt made to order for it to be the correct length. I hope your mother will not be angry with me," replied Gia seriously.

"I'm sure she understands! She knows you are not seeking to draw attention to yourself by showing off your legs like some of the younger dancers. If you ask her, she might ask the seamstresses to make a new skirt for you," Meg added helpfully.

"I don't think I could do that. They shall have their hands full with the new costumes as it is!" Changing the subject, she continued, "You must be dreadfully excited to be playing Giselle!"

Meg's face lit up the way it always did when she was enthused about something. The child had no artifice, she was so very wholesome, a credit to her mother. She looked so pretty standing there in her ballet uniform, seemingly free of any cares. The lead in Giselle would likely bring her all sorts of offers, both honorable and salacious from many gentlemen. Gia was glad that Meg's mother was so watchful, she would be sure nothing would happen to her.

The two of them stood in the hall and chatted as the other ladies and few men began to arrive for auditions. There were several of the younger members of the opera chorus in attendance, among them Adrienne Leveau who was busy holding court as far away from Gia as possible. She had spotted the woman she understudied for over her shoulder. Adrienne had given her a nasty look, and Gia turned away frowning.

Meg saw her upset, and placed a kind hand on her shoulder, "Don't worry about her! She may not even make the corps. Maman doesn't like her much. She'll only take her if she has to. You just wait. I know you'll do a wonderful job. Maman says you're quite good, and she would know. She could have been a great prima ballerina if she had not fallen in love with Papa and decided to become a mother."

Madame Giry emerged from the largest practice room and announced that auditions were to begin and invited everyone to enter. Set up in front of the room were three chairs, one for herself and the others for Meg and Gia. Although the room was large, the bar was overcrowded with so many people auditioning. Due to spacing concerns, Madame Giry would keep the warm up rather short, then she would take the men and women separately for the main part of the audition.

Gia and Meg observed as Madame Giry put everyone through the standard opening exercises. For the most part it was easy to separate the professional dancers from the singers. Gia noted ruefully this was not the case with Adrienne. She had good turnout and extension, there was almost no way that Madame Giry would not take her. Her only bad habit was that it was clear by the way she moved she tended to exaggerate the steps slightly in an effort to draw more attention to herself. In a soloist that was acceptable behavior, but not for the corps where the dancers were supposed to be like mirror images of each other as much as was possible.

Finally, Madame Giry grew disgusted and snapped at her, "Mlle. Leveau, I can see you quite well thank you! There is no need for you to show off any longer, you will have a part in the ballet!"

This put a smug smile on the face of Adrienne for the rest of the audition. Once the abbreviated warm up was complete, Madame Giry went through an arm exercise with the ladies while the men were allowed to rest. She then took then men through jumps and turns while the ladies rested and put on their toe shoes. At no time did the ballet mistress ever sit down in the chair she had taken out for herself. When she observed, she simply stood at the front of the room, only occasionally speaking. The ladies then returned to do leaps and pirouettes and the audition ended with everyone learning a brief combination. Gia was only watching and it looked exhausting. After Madame Giry dismissed the group she came over to convene with Meg and Gia to discuss the casting.

Only five women from the opera chorus were deemed acceptable for the corps de ballet. Madame Giry apologized for the selection of Adrienne Leveau, but Gia told her she understood that it was necessary. Adrienne would play one of the Wilis which meant Gia would have to work with her. Georges Huget would play Loys/Albrecht and Jean-Paul Chretien would play Hilarion. The other few solo roles would be filled by ladies from the ballet. It seemed they would not have to go outside the opera to find more dancers. That piece of news would please Monsieur Dupoix.

The decisions made, Madame Giry asked everyone to come in the room and gave out the good and bad news. She then thanked everyone for auditioning, dismissed everyone for one hour so people could rest and get something to eat. Rehearsals would begin immediately after that. Gia used the rest period to run to her room and eat, then she went back downstairs to do a bit of warming up. Madame Giry would want to begin work right away and she should not have to wait for her and Meg to prepare themselves. Unsurprisingly, she found Meg at the bar doing pliés when she returned to the room. Gia went to opposite bar, and did the same. All too soon, she began to hear the sounds of dancers returning, and she cut her practice short. With so little time to prepare, Gia knew she would be a bit stiff. At least tomorrow she would warm up with the others.

The corps de ballet all filed in, taking positions all around the room. The men were in a separate room. Madame Giry was issuing some instructions to them because she would have to focus on the corps for most of the afternoon. The moment she entered, her long black staff in hand, all the girls stood at attention.

"Good afternoon ladies. I hope you have all made the best of your break because this afternoon shall be nothing but work. Since I have not had time to make out a rehearsal schedule for some of the smaller numbers, we shall begin with the second act which will heavily feature the corps de ballet. Eventually there will additional rehearsals for those of you with solo roles and parts in the first act. But before we begin, I want all of you to arrange yourselves in two lines, taller ladies at the back so we can do a bit of practicing." Her voice was firm and made it clear that this should be done as quickly as possible. Gia scurried to the back awaiting her next instruction.

"We shall begin with pirouettes, then move into jumps and then some traveling steps across the floor. I notice a few of you do not have your toe shoes on, please put them on," she said, her tone slightly annoyed.

Gia looked down and realized she was one of the offenders. She had been so fixated on the return of the others she had forgotten to change shoes after warming up. In her rush to get back into line, Gia didn't put in quite enough lamb's wool, something she realized the moment she rose up on her toes. It would mean more bleeding and blisters than usual. She winced slightly, then went back into line.

The best thing to do would be to ignore the pain and just focus on Madame Giry and then the steps. It would have been easier if there were not quite so many people present. But as her mother had often told her, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," she would just have to forget that they were here. Besides, pirouettes were not especially difficult, particularly in toe shoes. They were directed to first do three turn preparations before doing four double turns to the right, then repeat the exercise on the left. All was going well until Gia lost the spot she focused on when someone stepped in front of her accidentally. It startled her, so she turned off balance, wobbling before she landed rather gracelessly on her rear end.

No one said a word, but their thoughts were plainly written across their faces. "This was to be their Queen?" If she could barely execute a simple double turn, what would happen with more advanced steps? Gia picked herself off the floor, grateful that she had not twisted an ankle. Madame Giry shot her an inquiring look, and she responded that she could continue. But with that one mistake, she had a difficult time concentrating for the rest of rehearsal.

She made no more major errors, but she was moving so gingerly, she was making the steps look like work. That was the cardinal sin of ballet. As hard as it was, it was all supposed to look effortless. The more Gia thought about falling, the more she thumped the landings from her jumps which caused stares from the others. She was coming down like a ton of bricks and her size was making it worse. Madame Giry noticed how frustrated she was becoming, and pulled her aside in front of everyone and told her she could sit down or go outside for a moment if she needed to. It was an extraordinary courtesy for her to extend. But Gia would not walk out of that room with Adrienne Leveau there. She would not let her be right about her.

Matters improved slightly when they moved on to traveling steps. With her long legs she could travel farther across the floor than any of them. Each girl did the combination as instructed and Gia noted that while Meg Giry was easily the most accomplished dancer, Adrienne Leveau was quite good. With practice she would be a match for any of the regular ballerinas. Was it too much to ask that Adrienne be bad at something? She would be sure to relate this disaster of a rehearsal to everyone. Dupoix would hear of it and have a conniption.

After the final bow and dismissal, Gia stayed behind. Madame Giry and Meg were going to rehearse with the men for a little while.

"Gia, you should go to your room and get some rest. Things will go better tomorrow," the ballet mistress said kindly. Privately she was very concerned. Gia's technique was excellent, she had been well taught and was not without some talent, but she was all nerves with people watching. Whatever would happen when it came time to perform in front of a large audience?

"I'm going to stay a while and practice. I will put out the lamps before I leave," she promised.

"If that is what you wish. But do not tarry long. You need to get your rest. We have a full day of rehearsal tomorrow." Although Gia nodded, indicating she would do as instructed, Madame Giry was sure the young woman would defy her. She had been humbled in front of her peers, and she did seem to be taking it well. It was likely she would be here late into the night.

The two women withdrew, leaving Gia alone to practice.

* * *

Erik was rather miffed that Gia was not waiting for him in her room. He had thought that after practice she would retire to her room immediately. He had waited patiently for an hour, but when she still did not make an appearance, he decided to look for her. Where could she be at this hour? It would not be safe to be out on the streets of Paris after dusk. He moved silently through the old passageways, being careful not to be noticed. He found a well concealed corner that Gia would have to pass on the way back to her room, and hid there. It was not long before Adrienne Leveau passed him by, a gaggle of girls in tow, hanging on her every word. He strained to hear what she was saying.

"You all should have seen her! She actually fell down in front of all of us! Madame Giry looked mortified. It will be her job if Mlle. Burnside makes a spectacle of herself, I tell you. Mark, I said this would be a mistake, days ago." She let out a long cackle, and the others joined in before adjourning to their rooms.

Damn it! Practice had not gone well, and to complicate matters, that stupid girl had managed to get cast in the corps de ballet. Erik had been looking forward to watching her toil with the seamstresses, her delicate hands getting calloused, dyed, and pricked by needles. That wench would be nothing but trouble for Gia! If he knew Gia at all, he knew where she would be. He headed directly for the practice rooms.

The hallways were silent and dark, but the lights in one room were burning bright. It could only be her. He could hear her cursing loudly in Italian. He crept up, hoping she would not hear him. Erik watched as she did double pirouettes one after another, each cleaner than the last. Gia then began a series of jumps, making barely a sound as she landed. The only noise was coming from her heavy breathing. Sweat had soaked through the bodice of her uniform, pooling at the front of her chest and the small of her back. There were even marks on the back of her knees from exertion. Her forehead dripped with perspiration that flew off whenever she whipped her head around. Several tendrils of curling hair had slipped out of her bun, but she was oblivious to it all. On her face was etched a look of determination. If he did not stop her, she would drive herself into a collapse from exhaustion. Worse, she could seriously injure herself.

Just as he was about to say something, he looked down at her feet, and gasped. Gia stopped dead, and looked to see who it was. When she saw it was Erik, she said nothing, but went back to what she was doing. He had driven her to this. She would not make the same mistakes tomorrow. She did not care if it meant a sleepless night. No one would laugh at her. Ever again.

As she started another series of turns, she felt him come behind her, and grab her by the shoulders, pulling her to him while she stayed on her toes, towering over him.

"Gia you must stop this madness! Look at your feet for God's sake!" he pleaded with her.

Gia had stopped thinking about her feet hours ago. It was only now that she stood still in his arms that the pain began to register. She looked down and was horrified to see that she was actually bleeding through her shoes. The pink satin was permanently stained with fairly large rust colored splotches. She lowered herself to the ground, but the pain did not go away. She knew she should take off her shoes so she could treat her feet, but it hurt too much to move.

She could feel her eyes filling with tears, and as they slipped down her face she unleashed her anger on him. "This is your fault! You have brought me to this. I have been humiliated. Madame Giry must think me hopeless."

Erik simply held her and let her shout at him. She pulled away and continued, "I am certain Adrienne is enjoying herself telling everyone just how terrible I am. No doubt you heard talk of it in the dormitories. The sad thing is, it's all true! She doesn't need to slander me this time. I danced like the out of shape cow I am. Are you happy now!"

His first instinct was to shout back at her, tell her she was being unreasonable. It was only the first rehearsal. She could not expect perfection the first day. But that would do no good. If he was in her position, he would be just as despondent. How many times had he played his organ all night, or composed all day leaving his fingers blistered, and pages stained red?

Saying nothing, he went around the room, and extinguished all the lamps. He picked up her flat slippers that were laying at the front of the room, and put them inside his coat pocket. The room was bathed in blackness, and once his eyes adjusted, he gathered her in his arms and picked her up, cradling her against his chest.

Gia was stunned he could even lift her. He behaved as if she weighed next to nothing. She should have told him to put her down. He would only injure himself carrying her about like a she was a bride to be carried over the threshold. For the first time in years, Gia felt petite. She wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder as he carried her through the deserted hallways. It then struck her, he was not taking her to her room.

"Erik, where are we going? My room is not this way," she asked quietly.

His only response was a single word: "Home."

It was only once he settled her into the boat that he finally let go of her. He punted toward his lair, the only sound the lapping of water. Candles were ablaze, and the curtains drawn back around his bed. Once the boat landed and he got back up and took her in his arms again, carrying to her to his bed. It was like something right out of one of her romantic novels. But his eyes were not blazing with that turquoise fire she had come to associate with lust. They were still placid.

He set her down on the bed, then disappeared, only to return with a basin filled with fragrant water. Erik removed the ruined shoes, first by unlacing the ribbons that were digging into the fragile skin around her ankles. As the shoes came off, they both got a look at the damage she had done. The skin on the toes bubbled with blisters, and blood seeped from the crevasses between her toes. He put her feet into the warm soapy water, and she sighed. He left again, and this time returned with bandages and a medical sewing kit. He stitched her up and lanced the blisters, saying nothing. When he completed his task, he looked back up her.

"Thank you Erik."

Gia then reached down and pulled him up by the lapels of his water splashed jacket, and kissed him deeply. He responded ardently, and stripped off his coat, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. But then he pulled away, remembering what he had wanted to do. He went into his wardrobe, rooted around a moment and took out two familiar pieces of purple fabric and handed them to her.

It was her slave girl costume. He must have brought it down here after she showed it to him. Whatever did he want her to do with it now?

Before she could ask he growled at her, his eyes having shifted color, "Put it on."

"Erik what is the meaning of his?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise and alarm.

"I am teaching you a lesson."

Unbidden, Gia felt a tingle ripple down her spine.


	24. 24

**A/N: Fair warning: the next chapter includes acts that some people may find objectionable . To be blunt: there is some bondage play. I ask you to keep in mind that Erik and Gia are consenting adults. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and post me a review. Thanks as always to all my loyal readers and interminablesadness my lovely beta.**

* * *

Clutching the costume to herself, Gia asked him, "Do you want me change here, in front of you?" She was afraid to do that. It was silly, she told herself, he'd seen her naked many times, but the thought of undressing, and then re-dressing into something revealing all while he watched made her uncomfortable.

As much as Erik would have enjoyed watching her change that was a game he would save for another time. He retreated once more, drawing the heavy red velvet curtains around the room, leaving her shielded from his prying eyes. He waited outside for her to bid him enter. He could hear her undressing, making all sorts of small noises; some of them of annoyance at him, others grimaces of pain for her feet would be very tender for the next couple of days. He had been picturing her in that diaphanous confection of a costume ever since she had shown it to him. His instincts told him she would enjoy what he wanted to do to her, but doubts still niggled at what remained of his conscience.

Her voice wafted huskily through the curtains, "Come in, Erik," and he pushed the curtains aside hurriedly, wanting to see her as quickly as possible.

She was a vision that would stir wanton thoughts in a eunuch. He noted she had not touched her hair, leaving it half unbound. Her arms were completely bare, and the bodice barely covered her front. Although there was not a deep neckline, if anything it was rather prim, but the sheerness of the fabric, combined with the fact Gia was not wearing anything underneath it made the outlines of her breasts visible to his hot gaze. Her nipples were already poking out, waiting for his touch. The skirt fell to just below her knees, but had slashes up the sides to give a dancer more room to move. As she stood before him, she had stuck out her left leg slightly. The long pale length taunted him.

"Is this the lesson you wanted to teach me? I look terribly foolish in this outfit, may I change so you can take me back to my room?"

In response, Erik removed his ivory waistcoat, cravat, and gloves as he walked toward her. He put his right index finger to his lips, and said, "From this point Gia, you will not speak to me until I give you leave to. You will not do anything that I do not give you permission to do. You must remember who is master here. In this place, you are nothing but my slave."

His voice was low and seductive, and she opened her mouth to speak, then remembered he had instructed her not to. She was not sure what Erik was about, and she found it somewhat frightening. Gia did not think he would ever hurt her, but she was rather dismayed he saw her as his slave. She had hoped he saw her as an equal. Despite all her misgivings, she would do as he said. Her body wanted him and he had barely even touched her. She wanted him to touch her, and yet he was keeping his distance.

He circled around her, looking her up and down. Having her before him dressed so provocatively was almost more exciting than having her nude. The costume concealed just enough, it was shame he was going to ruin it.

"I am most disappointed in you, my dear. You really should have a greater care for your person. There is no need for you to punish yourself. I will do that for you," he drawled as he made his way to his wardrobe. Gia watched, unable to move as drew out a few of his black silk cravats.

It was eerily like her dream. She had never imagined that people actually did that to each other. In her dream, she had enjoyed his attentions, but the idea of letting him bind her to the bed and blindfold her without a fight seemed wrong. This was a most dangerous path they were going down. She had heard whispers of decadent sexual games but she never imagined she would ever willingly participate in one. But looking at him, with his shirt half open, cuffs loosened, with the ties in his hands, she could refuse him nothing. Gia bowed her head meekly, awaiting his instruction.

"Cross your hands in front of you, right over left," he murmured into one of her ears. Erik was pleased she complied so swiftly. He took the tie and wound it around her wrists, securing them firmly. He was careful not to make it so tight that it would leave marks on her skin. Abrasions would only lead to difficult questions for her to answer.

That task completed, he guided her to his bed, leading her by pulling on the wrists. He sat her down and commanded, "Lie back, and position yourself in the middle of the bed, and then raise your arms."

Gia did not speak, but shot him a look that silently said, "You know this would be easier if I could use my HANDS!" He nearly chuckled, but suppressed it by saying firmly, "Now, Gia. I should not have to wait for you. Or will I have to punish you further?"

His eyes were so fierce, she could not look away from his face, even as she squirmed into position. Satisfied she was in the center of the large bed, she slowly raised her bound hands above her head. To her intense mortification, the bodice of the costume rode up, exposing a vast expanse of skin. The contrast between the fair skin and deep purple fabric was striking.

Seeing she was exactly where he wanted her, Erik climbed onto the bed and straddled her hips while he stayed on his knees. He leaned over her, being sure not to touch her, knowing he would lose his nerve if he did so. He looped another tie around part of the headboard and then tied that to her wrists. Her movement would be restricted but he would have complete access to her. Initially he had intended to bind her ankles to the bed, but that was not a good idea given their current state. He used one final tie to wrap around her eyes to she could not see.

He sat back on his haunches to look at her. She was twisting against ties, testing to see if they would hold her. To still her, he ran his right hand down one arm, gently hooked his fingers on the costume's neckline, pausing just a moment so she would know what he was about to do. His left hand joined the right, and in one stroke he tore the fragile material, savoring the sound it made. He discarded the now useless material, and feasted his eyes on her torso.

Lying like this, it was stretched as long as possible and her breasts sat high on her chest. His trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight, but he didn't want to remove them just yet. He did, however, tug off his shirt, leaving them both stripped to the waist. Without any further preliminaries, he began to draw on one of her nipples, which caused her to shudder. After he bestowed the same honor on the other, he began to kiss and lick his way down to her center. She was wearing a pair of very sensible cotton drawers beneath the skirt, and he tugged them off, tossing them aside, leaving her wearing only the flimsy skirt.

"You've been very good so far, my darling, and now I want you to bend those legs of yours and pull them up." Gia hesitated, particularly at his use of that endearment, but slid her legs along the satin bedcovers as he asked. Now she was truly wide open to him. She was moist and ready, and she could feel him slipping between her legs. He nudged her thighs open with his nose, and placed an open kiss there before he tasted her.

He marveled at how the moment his tongue touched the sweet pink flesh at the most intimate part of her, the way her entire body surged in reaction to it. Her lungs emptied, her legs locked around him, and her hips pushed up at him, willing him to continue.

"You are so eager, so greedy. Did I not say this was to be a lesson? You must behave yourself, or I will not give you what you so desperately want." At this, Gia whimpered. How could he tease her and stop like that? She was throbbing, panting for him.

"Erik I need you!" she exclaimed without thinking.

He pulled away, and hissed, "If you do that again, I will gag you!" She did not have to see his eyes to know he did not lie. His tone made clear his intentions.

Suddenly she felt him turning her onto her stomach and she turned her head to the right so she would not be smothered by the pillows. He was no longer on top of her, and she felt bereft until she felt him return. From the feel of him, he had removed his pants. She wiggled her bottom a bit and thrust her hips into the mattress, hoping that would bring her some relief if he would not.

Erik watched for a few moments as she writhed beneath him, but he could no longer deny himself. He placed his hands at either side of her, and began to lay kisses on her neck, along her shoulder blades, and finally down the center of her back, along the spinal column. His hands drifted down to grasp her hips, and a moment later he had thrust himself into her warmth. He had not been inside her in quite some time, and the sensation nearly made him release. She was so wet and tight she felt like a vice around him.

He realized this could not be the best position to take her in, at least for her. He had been enjoying the view of her heart shaped rear, but he wanted her to experience the same pleasure he did. He unwillingly withdrew from her, but only long enough for him to turn her back over onto her back. When she felt him fill her again, she sighed and wrapped her legs around his waist to urge him on. Up until that moment, Erik had avoided kissing her mouth, but seeing her worry on the bottom lip with her teeth, reminded him of how much he enjoyed nibbling on those lips. As he ground against her, he brought his mouth to hers in a searing kiss. He laved at the tiny marks she had made on her lower lip by biting down to prevent herself from speaking.

Gia felt so alive despite the fact she was pinned beneath him and unable to hold him as she wished. He felt so big inside her, everything was heightened by the loss of her sense of sight. God help her, it was better than her dream! It thrilled her as she realized that even though she could not see she could feel that he had removed his mask before he kissed her mouth. She could picture him in her mind's eye, his pale gold tinged skin covering her as she twisted against her bonds. He had her wrapped in his strong embrace, his hands at her back as he kissed her. All she could feel was him and the fabric of her skirt bunched around her hips as they moved together.

His mouth was a wonder of its own. The way it could alternately bring her pain and pleasure, sometimes simultaneously caused her to expel a moan from deep within her. If she could not speak, she could at least let him hear how he made her feel. Anything so he would not stop touching her. She could feel the familiar pressure building inside, and she purposely contracted her inner muscles around him which caused him to stroke deeper and harder.

Erik could tell she was not far from release. She was making the little noises that he had come to associate with her being close. He thrust forward again and she came apart in his arms, but he was not yet satisfied. He stilled as she shuddered around his cock, and he considered what to do next. He thought of releasing her, but she seemed to be enjoying the restriction as much as he thought she would. Instead he merely removed the blindfold, so he could look at her eyes. They fluttered open and took a moment to focus on him. He could get lost in those strange blue eyes of hers. The irises were dark blue, but shot through with a lighter shade and speckled with tiny yellow flecks that sometimes made her eyes look green.

"Now my dear, you may speak if you wish," he said as she began to come to her senses.

"Let me go Erik! I want to touch you," she implored him.

"No. This is not about what you want, but what I want. And what I want most is for you to stay just the way you are, helpless beneath me."

She would show him she was not as helpless as he supposed. She was certain he had not released yet, and she decided to remind him of that fact by grinding her pelvis against his. His eyes flashed at her, she had his full attention now.

"You traitorous little vixen, trying to use your body against me! I see I shall have to show you the error of your ways," he said as he began moving with her again, purposely thrusting at her as hard as he could. She threw her head back and groaned with each of his movements.

"Tell me who is master here! Tell me!"

"You are Erik! Only you," she cried as he continued to assault her senses.

"Tell me what you're feeling right now," he ordered. He wanted to hear her voice so he could listen to the way it changed as he brought her to another release. The last time, he had been denied that because he told her she could not speak.

Given the leave to say whatever she liked, Gia could not stop herself from saying, "I feel everything! I feel you and me moving together and that is all I could ever want. I don't want you to ever stop doing this to me." Her voice hitched as she could feel another orgasm coming on, "It's going to happen again Erik. You're going to make it happen again. Oh God I can't get enough of you!"

He arched an eyebrow. She could not get enough of him? She could not get enough of his monstrous flesh? The thought was an exciting one, and he gave her that much more that made her call his name just before he erupted inside her. He withdrew to discard the French letter, then he reached up to release her arms. Once she was completely free, he pulled her on top of him as he lay back. He held out the ties to her.

Gia seemed puzzled about what she was supposed to do until he said to her, "Turnabout is fair play, my sweet. Your turn."

A smile spread slowly across her lips and lit her eyes as realization dawned. Gia began the not unpleasant task of securing him in place. It was not a lesson either would forget in the near future.

* * *

Christine watched as the fire crackled and consumed the letters that Erik and Madame Giry had sent her. Now that she could be certain her husband would not find them, she sat down at her writing desk to compose a letter to her former tutor. It was difficult to be sure what to say to him. She tossed several drafts aside in disgust. They either sounded too childish or overly formal. She had to strike the correct tone. He must see that she had grown up in the intervening years that he could no longer hold the same sway he had in the past. However she wanted to let him know that she still cared for him.

He had said in his letter he wanted to meet with her, but that was something she could not allow. It would be too difficult to conceal something like that from Raoul, and she did not want to lie to him any more than necessary. With a huff and a sigh, she forced herself to concentrate on the parchment in front of her. A few minutes later she had a letter that she deemed acceptable.

_Dear Sir,_

_I thank you for your kind wishes toward my child. He is quite well, as am I and his father. I am pleased to hear that you are also well. There is no need for you to ask my pardon. I forgave you long ago. I could not allow that unfortunate night to color all my good memories of you. Without you I would not be the woman I am today, and for that I shall always be in your debt. _

_I regret that I cannot meet with you personally, but that is not possible at the moment. My duties to my family must take precedence over any personal desires I may wish to indulge in. It would be too difficult for me to see you without my husband learning of it. I am certain that would not be acceptable to you. _

_Erik, you must know that I have missed you over the years we have been separated. Do not think this means I am not happy in my marriage to Raoul. I love him far more than I can ever say. You were always the one with the way with words. I regret anything that I may have done to ever cause you any pain. I wish you every happiness in the world._

_Always,_

_Christine de Chagny_

She read the letter over a couple of times before she folded it closed and sealed it. She placed it with the letter that she intended to send to Meg. On the outside of the letter she addressed it to Madame Giry as he had instructed her to. Christine knew she would see it safely delivered to him. Just as she was about to ring for Piquet to pick up the letters, she noticed the discarded drafts, and thinking it would be prudent to dispose of them, she added them to the fire.

She did not hear her husband enter for he trod so lightly and the carpets muffled his progress.

"Christine, whatever are you burning?"

She was startled, but replied, "Just these ruined parchments. I was having some difficulty deciding what to write to Madame Giry. I know it's a terrible waste of stationary, but would you have a viscomtess sending letters with ink splotches and spelling errors? Someone might think she was of less than noble birth."

Raoul saw the two letters sitting on her desk and fingered them a moment before he asked, "Would you like me to deliver these to Piquet to be mailed today?"

"Thank you my love. By now the Metropolitan will be starting its newest production, and I'm sure Meg will be anxious to tell me of it. I would hate for her to think I've been neglecting our correspondence."

"Speaking of that, I received invitations for us both to attend the opening of the next production from Monsieur Dupoix, the owner and manager. He was so pleased to see that we attended _The Magic Flute_, he is hopeful we shall return soon." He took his wife in his arms, and added, "I think, my dear, he is trying to woo us. A theater can never have too many wealthy patrons."

"Are you thinking of extending him a line of credit?" she asked inquisitively.

"Not at the present. The de Chagny's have not had much success in that area recently. For now I am content to let him try to convince me otherwise."

Christine did not look happy at the prospect of seeing her friends again so soon, and that was rather odd. "Is something wrong? I thought you would be excited to see Meg and Madame Giry again. You have been out of sorts ever since those letters came, is there something you want to tell me?"

"It's nothing Raoul. I just don't like leaving Philippe. He changes every day, and I feel like I miss some things when we go away," she said with a touch of melancholy in her voice.

He gave her a teasing, quick kiss on the cheek, and said, "My love, you are the best of mothers. Far more attentive than I remember my mother being. For the longest time I thought my nanny was my mother, she so infrequently darkened the door of the nursery. He can spare us another short trip to Paris in a month. I must admit, I enjoy having you all to myself while we were away. It was almost like being on our honeymoon again."

The memories of those marvelous weeks following their marriage brought a smile to her face. After the initial awkwardness the first time they had made love on their wedding night, they had spent most of the time in bed. At first he had been very gentle, afraid he would hurt her, but once she stirred up the courage to urge him on, everything had changed. They hardly did any of the sight-seeing Raoul had planned for them, instead spending long hours driving each other mad with pleasure.

Christine needed some of that wildness now. She reached up and let her hair down and tugged him toward their bedroom. Raoul followed after her, leaving the letters on her desk, momentarily forgotten. Piquet would pick them up later.


	25. 25

**A/N: Thank you so much for being patient with me. I struggled a bit with this chapter, but hopefully it isn't too terrible. Please read and review.**

* * *

Once Gia fell into a peaceful sleep, Erik extricated himself from her embrace and crept carefully out of bed so as not to disturb her. He picked up her discarded ballet uniform and stockings and as he passed his mirror on his way to wash them, he looked at himself critically. Was it possible his face was not as horrible as he had imagined it after all these years? She had accepted it so easily and without hesitation. Her reaction when she had felt that he had removed it seemed to demonstrate she preferred him without it. He had spent so many hours of his life constructing a perfect façade so when he did show himself he did not frighten others. It was almost disconcerting that the mask was nothing but a foolish prop to her.

What would happen if he were to venture out without it? She had once said she was willing to help him if he wished to do that. Would she be willing to be seen on his arm? Would she be proud to announce to the world that he was her lover? The idea was very appealing, but ultimately not possible. Gia's reputation was too important to her to reveal that she had taken up with a man. Any man for that matter. If he had been whole, she would have insisted on secrecy.

Without a thought to his nudity, Erik took the uniform over to the stove where he always kept some hot water. He began by first washing her stockings and then moved on to the rest of the uniform. They would probably not be completely dry before morning, but they would be clean. He was certain Gia would not want to attend rehearsal in a sweat stained dress. She would be too concerned about what others might say about it.

As he scrubbed the cotton he thought of what she had done to him once he relinquished the power in his bed to her. She had affixed each wrist to the bed separately before she blindfolded him. She did not forbid him to speak however. Then she set about using that talented mouth of hers to drive him nearly insane. The idea of her using it on another man was beginning to bother him. He had promised himself that when the time came he would be able to give her up without any jealousy on his part. But the very idea of her taking another man into her mouth and riding him hard until he came filled him with a rage he had not felt in some time. Erik supposed it was only natural, after all, what man would enjoy the idea of his woman in bed with another man? As long as he did not act on those feelings there would be no problems.

He had come to care for her far more than he had expected. She was both intellectually and physically stimulating. She knew nearly as much about opera and music as he did. They were both stubborn perfectionists that could harm themselves if left to their own devices. And yet they could bring out the worst in each other when they would argue. He instinctively knew how he could hurt her the most when they fought, and she was not afraid to respond to that in kind. However, she had never once thrown his deformity back at him. She behaved as though it did not exist. He had long given up on finding a woman who could do that.

It distressed him to no end that he was starting to sound like a man in love. Was this what it meant to be in love? It was certainly not the all consuming emotion that he had felt for Christine. But perhaps that was a good thing. He felt a closeness to Gia that he had not had with Christine, but then again, he had never slept with her. With Christine he had be sure he had found the love of a lifetime, the kind of love that would never die, but with Gia he simply found peace.

The hours he spent without her were often long and difficult. He passed them by composing and reading, occasionally thinking about his plans for the future of the Metropolitan, but suddenly he would picture her and he would have to set aside whatever he was doing for the moment. It was hard to believe someone who had been so sheltered could be so uninhibited in bed. That could not entirely be his doing. She was a passionate woman, she just needed someone to bring that out of her. He was just damn lucky it had been him.

He had been so distracted thinking about Gia he nearly wore a hole through the bodice of the ballet outfit. Satisfied it was now clean, he wrung it out thoroughly and hung it up to dry not far from the stove. The heat there would expedite things. Before Erik could go back to bed, he went into his wardrobe and took out the extra set of pointe shoes that he had purchased for her. It was providential that he had bought two pairs since Gia could not possibly use the other pair again. Not only were blood stains visible on the outside, the toes were almost broken in and the supports that help a dancer stay upright were extremely worn. He looked at where Gia had sewn in the ribbons and did his best to replicate that on the new pair. He would have liked to do more, but he knew dancers had their own methods of preparing their shoes, so he would have to leave it to her in the morning.

He slunk back to the bed, reminding himself to wake her so she would have plenty of time to finish work on the shoes, dress, and get to rehearsal. She would not want to be late, especially since it would cause idle chatter and not put her in good stead with the demanding ballet mistress. She let out a small content sound as he rejoined her in the bed. He pulled her against him and she positively purred. If he was not careful she would wake up, and from the sounds she was making they would not fall asleep in the near future.

He whispered soothingly to her, "Shhhh, Gia. You need your rest." He stroked her hair in silence until he was certain she was asleep. Only then did he allow himself to slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

Gia awoke in a blind panic as she felt a light shake on her shoulder. She bolted out of the bed, and it took her a moment to realize that she was naked. Self-conscious she quickly pulled up the sheet to cover herself and looked up to see Erik holding out a mug of steaming liquid with a bemused expression on his face.

"How can you just stand there? I'm going to be late for rehearsal and I don't even have anything to wear!" she shrieked. "You have to help me. This is all your fault!"

"Why do I always have to remind you that some of the blame has to lie with you. Here, have some tea," he said as he pressed the mug into her hand. "I woke you with plenty of time to spare, and I laundered your things before I fell asleep."

"You did that for me?" she looked at him with wide eyes, unsure whether to believe he would be that considerate.

"Did you think I would let you go to rehearsal unprepared?" he asked her.

"I, I just did not think that it would occur to you," she stammered as she took a long drink from the cup. "You certainly have a talent for putting me constantly in your debt."

"It is nothing." He left her to her tea, but shortly returned with all that she would need for the upcoming rehearsal, including the toe shoes, a box of lamb's wool, and his sewing kit. Gia actually let out a girlish squeal at the sight of the new shoes. Quite forgetting herself, she jumped out of the bed and threw her arms around him. He dropped all the items as he found his arms full of warm woman. She was pressed intimately against him, her chest against his, her hips against his. His first thought was to tumble her back into that bed, and get his clothes off as quickly as possible. His cock certainly didn't care that it would make her late.

Erik wrapped his large hands around her waist and held her off. "Gia, you need to get dressed. Now. Or I can't be held responsible for my actions." He hurriedly exited the room and went to the organ to play while she changed. He banged heavily at the keyboard, thankful to have something to take his sexual frustration out on. She emerged scant minutes later, her hair put to rights, and fully dressed, clutching his sewing kit. Without a word she took a seat next to him on the bench while he played and she went to work on the tips of the shoes. As he played, he took a deep inhale, and the smell of sex permeated his nostrils. She smelled like someone who had been making love all night, there was musk and the trace of sweat, and it brought him back instantly to the night before. He found himself unable to concentrate on the piece of music he was playing, and he got up and walked away from her.

"Erik is there something wrong? I was enjoying your playing a great deal. One of your own works, I imagine?" she asked, oblivious to his discomfort.

"No, I just wanted to give you some more space," he replied, not wanting to admit what he wanted was to take her while she sat on that bench and he used the organ to brace himself as he fucked her. He watched as she finished with the shoes, and banged them hard against the stone floor to soften them up a bit. She then slipped them on without tying them and proceeded to walk about a bit, being careful to watch where she stepped because the floor was uneven. She winced a bit because her feet were still tender, but she was more comfortable in this pair than the last. It certainly improved matters that she had better protected her feet by using a more generous packing of lamb's wool.

Satisfied, she took the shoes off, and neatly tucked the ribbons in so they would not get any dirtier by trailing along the floor. Seeing that she was ready to leave, Erik went to his room to fetch her flat slippers that he had placed inside one of his topcoats. Having retrieved them, he helped her into the boat. Gia was nervous, and he could hear her fiddling with the costume the closer they got to their final destination. He offered to escort her as far as the hallways near the practice rooms but she declined, saying it wasn't wise or necessary. He had anticipated her response, but he wanted to make the offer nonetheless.

He was at something of a loss at what do once he watched her form disappear into the gloom of the dark passageway. Christine had to have received his letter by now. It would be a matter of time before he heard a response. What he wanted at the moment was to attend the rehearsal and see how Gia handled herself. If he knew Madame Giry, by next week rehearsals would begin on the stage of the Metropolitan. Then he would be able to observe all he liked. That thought cheered him slightly as he made his way back to the place that had become his home. He was already looking forward to seeing Gia later that evening, and he hummed as he guided the boat back to his lair.

* * *

Thankfully the hallways behind the ballet practice rooms were devoid of people as she carefully made her way to rehearsal. As she was the first to arrive, Gia took the time to stretch a bit. Today there would be no excuses for a poor performance. She was only alone for a few minutes before the other performers began to arrive along with Madame Giry.

Once everyone was assembled she announced, "This shall be the schedule for the rest of this week, and I expect you all to keep it. I shall rehearse all of the ladies from 9:30 AM until noon. We shall then adjourn for lunch for one hour. From 1 until 3 I shall work with the gentleman. After a short break, I will work with all of the principal dancers."

Everyone nodded, and she continued, "Beginning next Monday, we shall only warm up in the practice rooms, and then the rest of rehearsals shall be spent on stage so I can confer with Monsieur Reyer as much as possible about the music. One month is a short time to prepare a production worthy of the scale of this opera house, but I believe if you all work your hardest, we shall be successful."

The few gentlemen present were then dismissed and told to report to the costume department to have their measurements taken. The ladies would do the same after the lunch break. Madame Giry then sharply rapped her staff on the floor and that sent the message it was time to begin practice. Gia could not help observing that in all the intervening years some things, like bar warm up, never change. There was something comforting in that fact. It would begin with pliés and tendus then end with devélopées and arabesques. In between there would be the usual exercises meant to test and improve balance, agility and flexibility.

This morning she felt much less nervous, and she focused as much as possible on Madame Giry's voice and the sound of the cane, pounding out the count. Occasionally she would wield it as a tool to point out mistakes or give praise. Gia could not help being pleased when the ballet mistress lightly rapped Adrienne Leveau on the shoulder for allowing her arms to droop. Unwisely she had given Madame Giry a hostile glare instead of accepting her gentle criticism.

"Mademoiselle Leveau, I do not know how Monsieur Reyer conducts his rehearsals but when you are in this room, you will show me the respect that is due me. If you cannot handle working with me then you can go somewhere else. I am sure the seamstresses would be happy to have your help."

That remark cowed the young singer, and the room was quiet a moment before everyone resumed the exercise. Once the warm up was complete, it was time to don pointe shoes and begin the most difficult part of practice. Today Gia took her time, being certain to protect her feet and lace the ribbons so she would not have to worry about them coming loose. Traditionally, center work began with an arm exercise, but Madame Giry began instead with some simple traveling steps. She gradually began to increase the difficulty, and Gia realized what she was doing. She was looking to see what everyone's strengths were for choreographic reasons.

They next moved into pirouettes, which would be the first real test for Gia. Madame Giry called for the same exercise as the day previous. Gia saw her look in her direction briefly as she began the count. "Just pretend no one is there," Gia muttered to herself over and over, a mantra to settle the knots in her stomach.

Prepare. Four to the right.

Prepare. Four to the left.

As Gia completed the final double turn with nary a wobble, she heard Madame Giry say, "Well done Mlle. Burnside, well done." The praise made Gia crack a small smile, but her small triumph was over the moment Madame Giry began the instructions for the next exercise.

The rehearsal continued in that fashion with Gia performing ably, if not distinguishing herself. It would be enough to put off some of the gossip, she thought. The last hour, Madame Giry began lining them up to work on some of the actual dancing from the ballet. As the Queen, Gia would enter first, followed by all of the other members of the corps. Meg would enter last as Giselle who Gia would have to command to rise from her grave. There would then be a long dance where Gia would have some solo work.

It was strange being the center of attention, and the hour seemed to drag far longer than the others. Gia was relieved when Madame Giry dismissed them all, but she did not look forward to being measured later. She was looking forward to the principal rehearsal, if only because she would have the chance to see Meg dance. She would make a marvelous Giselle. From the little she had seen, she could combine the sweetness and passionate fragility so necessary to make the character work.

After lunch Gia reported to the seamstresses who measured her for her costume. She could hear the assistants tittering that her costume would be one of the most expensive because it would contain the most fabric. Yet another cold reminder that she was out of place. Having nothing better to do with herself she decided to go the practice rooms and wait until the men finished rehearsing. Since one room was available she used the time to practice the sections of the ballet that she had learned earlier in the day.

"I see the reports about you were greatly exaggerated," said a male voice across the room.

Gia turned to find a sweaty Jean-Paul Chretien watching her. He was rather handsome with his hair the color of sun kissed wheat and chestnut brown eyes, but he stood at least three inches shorter than her.

"I had heard from some sources that you were rather hopeless. It would seem those reports were erroneous. Those girls can be so petty. They must be jealous you're better than they are," he said as he entered the room.

"Shouldn't you be rehearsing with the others Monsieur Chretien?" she asked.

"It would seem you've lost track of time, Mlle. Burnside. We finished a few minutes ago. I am simply waiting for afternoon rehearsal to begin. And please call me Jean-Paul, after all we will be working closely together the next few weeks," he replied with emphasis on the latter part of his last statement.

"I must have. I just like to take the time to practice when I can, given I need so much work," she explained.

"Not that I can see. Is it true you fell during yesterday's rehearsals or did Adrienne dream that up along with the tales of your phantom lover?"

His choice of wording sent a jolt of fear through her body and made her heart race. She calmed herself by reminding herself that there was no way she could know anything about Erik. "She didn't lie. I did make rather an ass of myself yesterday. I was very nervous dancing in front of others."

"I would think that after years of being on stage would have banished all your butterflies," he remarked.

"You must remember, Jean-Paul, I have not danced in front of an audience in nearly ten years."

Over the last couple of years that he had been employed at the Metropolitan, he had heard all manner of rumors about Gianna Burnside. She was a most mysterious figure, always holding herself apart and seeming very aloof. Even now he could tell she was uncomfortable with him being alone in the room with her. He wondered if she had ever had a lover. The current was gossip that it was some rich old man, but he doubted it. Gia looked to be a woman of taste, and that would not appeal to her, no matter the money to be made. Might she be a virgin? Her mother had certainly kept the men away while she was alive. A new conquest would be exciting; a few well-chosen compliments and she would be putty in his hands.

"I must admit that now that I've seen you for myself, I am quite happy that you're going to be the one dancing me to death rather than one of the other girls. There's something about you Gianna, a majesty that they don't have," he flattered her as he openly leered at her.

The ogling made Gia even more unsettled. What a pig! Did he think he was a simple chorus girl who would just fall into his arms? However, she knew it would not be prudent to be rude to him as he would be one principal dancer she would be working the closest with. She simply gave him a cold, "Thank you," and breathed a sigh of relief when Madame Giry arrived with Meg.

A couple of hours later, Gia returned directly to her room, wanting nothing more than something to eat and her bed. As she entered the room she found a note had been shoved under her door. The note was written in the neat script of the ballet mistress. It read:

_Dear Gia,_

_During the lunch hour, I received an express letter addressed to me from Christine. The letter is clearly meant for Erik by the contents. I leave it to you to see he receives it as he no longer pays me any calls._

_Sincerely,_

_Antoinette Giry_

The seal on the letter was already broken. She was alone in her room. What harm could it possibly do to read the letter? It would be a gross invasion of not only Erik's privacy but the viscomtess's. She listened carefully to discern if he was at her wardrobe, certain the coast was clear, she opened the note and read it.


	26. 26

**A/N: As many of you guessed this chapter is not the happiest one. I do hope you like it though. Please read and review.**

* * *

Although she felt terribly guilty about reading the letter addressed to Erik from Christine, it relieved her in a way. Erik must have asked to see her in person, and she flatly refused him. She said that she missed him, but she had been careful to emphasize that she was not about to leave her husband for him. Gia was disappointed that she did not say anything that would indicate she had no desire to hear from him again. At no point did she say out right, "Do not write me." Erik would take that as encouragement to continue to write her. If could write letters like he could compose, he would try to woo her with passionate words. Perhaps time had taught him the value of patience.

How long would she be able to withstand his advances? Eventually she would have to make an ultimate decision and the thought of Christine breaking his heart again pained her. Gia had never seen him kill, but she had no doubt he could and would do it if necessary. He moved like a killer, soft and quick. With his strength and large hands, he could wring the breath from a man's throat or snap his neck. If Christine responsed to him then rejected him again, Erik would kill again. Whether he would confine it to simply her and her family was the only question in Gia's mind.

She put the letter aside on her dressing table, then went behind her screen to change out of her ballet uniform. It would have been prudent to put on a nightgown, but she was so physically spent, the only thing she had energy to put on was her old robe. The cotton was soft and soothing to her overheated skin. Gia poured some water into the wash basin and splashed her face with water. He would be coming soon, and she needed to be sharp. At the moment, if she were to lie down she would be asleep in minutes.

Although, that might not be such a bad thing, if he found her asleep he might simply take the letter and leave. No, she thought, he would see it had been opened, and then he would have questions. If he asked her if she read it, Gia would not lie to him. She had not lied to him before, and she was not about to do so. It would anger him, and that sort of betrayal might cause him to leave her. A part of her wondered if she had read the note knowing that confessing to doing that could sabotage their relationship. Was she trying to drive him away?

In the meantime, she settled into a chair and took out one of her favorite books. It was a collection of fairy tales, something a woman of her age would not normally read. But they brought her back to when she was young and believed in handsome princes and that everyone lived happily ever after. When she came to "Beauty and the Beast" she skipped past it. The next story was "Sleeping Beauty", which had always been a favorite. Gia had just gotten to the moment where Aurora pricks her finger when she heard Erik coming through the wardrobe. She put the book aside and got up to get Christine's letter. She then returned to the chair and kept the note in her lap, making no effort to conceal it from view.

Erik's cloak swished as he entered the room, his eyes bright with exertion. He had been singing to himself, but stopped the moment he saw Gia sitting in her chair, with her bare legs peeking out from the dressing gown. Was she trying to drive him mad with lust? She could not know how fetching she looked, despite the fact that robe had seen better days. It was faded and worn in places, but that did not detract from her allure. As his eyes traveled up her long frame, he noticed that she had a note in her lap. The paper was bright white and looked rather expensive. Who could be sending her notes, he wondered?

"Who is that letter from Gia?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"It is for you. It is from Christine. Madame Giry received it this afternoon, and she left it for me under my door," she replied as she handed him the letter. He was trembling as he read it. Gia watched as his eyes moved up and down the page as though he was looking for something that was not there, but his expression remained inscrutable. His head shot up as though he realized he was not alone, and he tucked the letter into the inner pocket of his top coat.

It was only after he put it away that it occurred to him the seal on the letter had been broken before he had read it. He had been in such a hurry to see Christine's response that that fact had somehow escaped him.

"Why was the seal on the letter broken when you gave it to me?"

"The outer envelope was addressed to Madame Giry. I imagine she opened it initially thinking the letter was for her," she answered, hoping he would not ask any more questions.

"And she gave the letter to you, with it already opened? Did you read it, Gia?" he questioned her, his voice rising in intensity with every syllable.

She closed her eyes, wishing that when she opened them he would have disappeared. She could still lie, but deception was not her way. He would see through it and hate her all the more for trying to deceive him. It was better that she tell him the truth.

"Yes," was all she said, looking at him directly as she said it. She would not look away from his hard gaze.

"Do you realize what you have done? How could you do that to me? I trusted you. More than I have trusted anyone in years," he advanced on her and shook her lightly by the shoulders as he implored her, "Why?"

"I don't know, Erik. I just had to," was her only response to his desperate query.

His earlier thoughts banished, he found himself nearly sick at the sight of her. At least she had the good grace to look away, cognizant of the fact that their relationship could never be the same. Before he could do something they would both regret, Erik retreated from the room, wanting to get as far away from her as possible. He slammed the wardrobe behind him, and when he reached the landing he noticed his face was wet with tears.

It was over. Erik would never speak to her again. It was all irretrievably broken. Never again would she be subject to his quick temper and dangerous whims. Never again would she be rocked in the magnificent cradle that was his body, holding her until morning, and sometimes singing sweetly in her ear. The loss hit her hard, as though she had been struck in the stomach with Madame Giry's wooden staff. She crawled into her bed, and she was soon overcome by wracking sobs. Her throat wanted to close up, and it was difficult to draw breath. Strangely, none of that mattered to her. She deserved to die after so carelessly casting aside all the trust he had put in her. Erik was gone, never to confide in her again. As evening fell, Gianna Burnside cried herself to sleep.

As Erik was making his way back to his home, needing the solace that only his music could bring him, he overheard Madame Giry sending her daughter to their room for the evening while she returned briefly to the practice rooms.

"Meg, I believe I rather absentmindedly left the lamps on in one of the rooms. I must go check to be certain the lights are extinguished."

"Alright Maman, I shall see you soon," said Meg before she dashed off to their room.

Seeing that Antoinette was alone, he followed closely behind her, keeping himself hidden from view. Perhaps she would have some insight into why Gia would have done something like this. He could not accept that she would be that callous with his feelings. She had to have known that there would be dire consequences if she read that letter! Had he been mistaken all this time that she had cared anything for him? Or had be pushed her too far in their last intimate assignation and she was looking for a way to end things without telling him he disgusted her?

"Erik, I know you are there. Show yourself," came Madame Giry's voice from the darkened hallway. He must be losing his touch. But Antoinette had always had the uncanny knack of knowing when he was present.

"Indeed I am," he said smoothly as he emerged from the gloom.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I have not seen you in sometime. You have been occupied with Mlle. Burnside."

He responded rather stiffly, "I do not think I shall be spending time with Mlle. Burnside in the near future."

"Really? Does she know that?" the ballet mistress inquired. What could have happened that he would break from her completely? Christine had to be involved in some way. Why could he not put her behind him? Gia was here! She was in love with him! For a man blessed with such an ear for music, sometimes she wondered if it had dulled his sense of sight.

"She read a letter that was meant for me alone. She breached my trust. She cannot take that back," his voice betraying how much Gia had hurt him.

"That damned letter from Christine, wasn't it? I opened it when it arrived, and then she read it after I gave it to her. Did you catch her reading it?"

"No. She did not even try to lie. I asked if she read it, and she admitted it to my face. I must admit I am puzzled why. I did not think she was capable of something like that."

Madame Giry sighed. She did not think that Gia would read the letter, but she supposed her curiosity was natural. If anything, she probably read it out of fear of what the letter might contain. "Erik, did it occur to you she sees Christine as a rival for your affections? Do you not see that she is jealous that you not return her feelings? She wanted to know how great a threat the viscomtess poses. At least, that is what I would do in her position."

"Are you suggesting that Gia is in love with me? Don't be daft!" he crowed.

"Erik, women in love have been known to do more foolish things than reading the letters belonging to their beloved. Think! She did not even try to hide it from you! She would risk your ire rather than lie to you. Those are not the actions of a woman who does not care for a man." These two people were so inexperienced with love that they were both doing their utmost to destroy what they had created. New love was a fragile thing, like a house of cards, and it would fall apart if the center was removed. Trust was that center for Erik.

"How can I ever trust her again? How do I know she will not run to Dupoix and tell him exactly where to find me?"

"You cannot honestly think she would do such a thing? Think of what she risked in telling you the truth. Think of what she has risked to be with you at all!" Madame Giry watched Erik intently as his gaze softened slightly. It seemed that being reminded that he was not alone in putting himself in harm's way had an effect on him.

If Erik felt like being vindictive, he could write one of his famous notes to Adrienne Leveau giving details of his physical relationship with Gianna Burnside that she would gladly distribute to the world at large. If the outside world ever learned that she became the lover of the Phantom of the Opera, the man who had destroyed the Opera Populaire, and had killed at will, she would lose everything. Dupoix would have to dismiss her to avoid a scandal, and it would be next to impossible for her to find work in Paris. It would mean starting a new life with a new name in a new city something that Gia was probably not strong enough to do at the moment. She might even face criminal prosecution for withholding information about a wanted man from the authorities.

"Erik, perhaps what you both need is some time apart from each other. I know it must seem impossible at the moment, but try to think of this from her perspective." Erik was simply standing there, unable to look away from her. She did something she had always been hesitant to do in the past, she touched him. She cupped his cheek gently and said to him softly, "I am certain she loves you Erik. She may have never said it because she knows you do not return her feelings, but there is love there. Do not turn your back so easily on that." With that, she removed her hand from his face, leaving Erik slightly stunned.

He found it hard to respond to that. Giry had never knowingly lied to him, even during the entire mess with Christine. She had always been his closest friend and confidante up until he taken Gia to his bed. He had loved Christine, but they had never been close in that way. He had always seen her as impossibly above him, and he was always striving to improve himself so that he might be worthy of her love. Not just her love, but anything. Her very touch, the sound of her voice speaking his name had, at one time, meant more to him than almost anything. Despite all of that, they had never had what could be called a conversation. There had never been time for one.

"I will say this, Antoinette, I will take your advice for now. A separation will give me some time to ruminate on what you have said. Tell her if she wishes to contact me, she may write to me. I will not refuse a letter," he said as he moved away from her, retreating back into the familiar darkness.

* * *

Erik tossed and turned in his bed that evening, his head filled with Madame Giry's words about Gia. Could she truly love him? How could any woman be capable of that?

It had been so much easier when he thought all they shared was lust and a desire to slake it on each other. He had been so sure that he would not give a damn if she made the mistake of falling in love with him. He thought he would enjoy being the one to do the rejecting. Instead, he could not sleep because all he could imagine is how she must feel. To find out your love was one sided and not returned was a soul killing thing. There had been days after Christine left him that suicide had seemed like a viable solution to ending the pain.

He would watch her closely to make sure she did not stupidly hurt herself over him. A part of him wanted to laugh, here he was, the mysterious Phantom of the Opera, fretting over whether _he_ had broken someone's heart. It shouldn't matter to him. It was her fault for intruding into something that was none of her business. If she hadn't they would probably be enjoying each other's caresses and feel of skin on skin rather than lying awake in a cold bed, alone. He even slept better with her. The nightmares of the men he had killed were dispelled as he lay in her embrace. Their voices had diminished in that couple of weeks. Could she even accept that part of him?

How could she fall in love with a man who had not even wooed her properly? This was a woman who kept row upon row of well worn romance novels on her bookshelf. She must expect that the man she would love would bring her flowers and greet her with soft words and even softer kisses. He had used his body and his voice to seduce her, and it had worked better than he had hoped. And once she had fallen into his bed, she had been the kind of partner he always wished for. Curious, not afraid to explore the darker side; considerate but willing to tell him what she needed. He reflected it had been a good thing they had nearly always had their encounters down here, they both had a tendency to very vocal.

How could she love him? He had insulted her on more than one occasion. He had trespassed in her room. He had forced her to attend a dinner in order to gain more information about Christine and her husband. After years of having an unimpeachable character, he had managed to stir up gossip that she had a lover. And that was not even considering the fact he had insisted she take one of leading roles in a ballet despite a ten year absence. He told himself that Madame Giry must have read her wrong. That was a comforting thought.

Since sleep did not appear to be any nearer, he got out of bed and picked up his top coat and drew out Christine's letter. He read it over again. It was a letter of contradictions. She thanked him for being her tutor and said she forgave him, and yet she refused to meet with him, saying it would be too difficult to conceal from her husband. She had used the formal greeting "Dear Sir" but addressed him as Erik later. He found it fascinating that although she said that she loved her husband, she never explicitly told him not to contact her again. She had even said she had missed him.

He would have to write her again. He would find a way to convince her to come to Paris again. She would undoubtedly hear from Meg about the Metropolitan's production of _Giselle_. She would want to support her friend who would be dancing for the first time in a leading role in an important ballet on a major stage.

She would come, and they would see each other. They would talk. He wanted her to see how he had changed. He wanted her to know that she had not defeated him. Only now was he becoming uncertain if he wanted her if she offered herself to him. It was not because she had been with another man, or even that she had a child, and depriving that child of his mother would be cruel. A thought was continuing to press its way into his consciousness: he was falling in love with Gia Burnside.

Why should love ever be easy for him? The moment his former muse was becoming available to him, he was becoming attached to another. Why did life play such tricks on him? Could he not be happy? Erik put the letter on his dressing table and returned to bed.

He slept fitfully, his dreams filled with Gia and Christine and being forced to choose between them. They both stood before him wearing wedding gowns, imploring him to join himself in marriage to them. Christine wore the wedding gown he had designed for her with a long veil and Gia was wearing a much simpler white walking dress with a high neckline and a small matching hat. Christine looked so pale and delicate, her long chestnut curls tumbling down her shoulders, her eyes wide and tear-filled. But Gia stood before him proud, her eyes clear, as if to say, "You know why you should choose me." He extended his hand to the woman who would be his bride.

When he awoke the next morning in a cold sweat he could not remember who it had been.


	27. 27

**A/N: Here's the next chapter, and I hope you all enjoy it. I shall be going out of town for a few days, and although I plan to take my laptop so I can write, I probably won't be posting anything until late Monday or Tuesday. Please read and review!**

* * *

Gia felt the warm morning light on her face, and it signaled her it was time to wake up. Facing an entire day of rehearsals was the last thing she wanted to do. Her first thought was to bury herself under the sheets and spend the entire day in bed feeling sorry for herself. She had pushed Erik away with her faithlessness and inability to tell him why she felt so threatened by Christine. She was too afraid to say the words out loud for fear of what his reaction would be to them.

I love you.

Three simple words that she had never spoken to anyone, save her mother. In her foolish attempt to protect herself from rejection, she had ironically caused him to do exactly that. She wanted to spend the day wallowing in self pity, but a voice inside told her to get out of bed and get dressed. Erik was not the only man in this world. It would not do for her to be humiliated in front of an audience because of her attachment to him. Determined to face the day, she placed her feet on the floor and stood up. From there she operated out of routine, going about the business of washing her face, putting up her hair, and dressing.

He was just a man! And an infuriating one at that! He was demanding, selfish, and on more than occasion surly. He could be manipulative and often thoughtless. There were plenty of other men to be had. If she performed well in _Giselle_ she might even receive an offer to become the mistress of a gentleman. She was not so old as to have lost all her charms. If Erik had found her attractive, there would be others. Why, just yesterday, Jean-Paul Chretien had eyed her with interest!

The only problem in this glorious plan was that she did not want another man. Erik had wormed his way into her heart. She wanted to be with him and only him. She wanted to be there to soothe his rages and comfort him when he needed it. She wanted to wake to the sounds of his music echoing wherever they chose to make a home. She would have lived in that damned cellar if that would mean she could be with him!

But cursing herself and hand wringing would not solve anything. She was not the first or last woman who would have her heart broken. For a brief moment, there had been love in her life, and that was more than could be said for some people. Gia took one final look at herself in the mirror, and satisfied that she did not look like she had spent much of night weeping, she picked up her pointe shoes as she walked out the door on her way to rehearsal.

Eager to try to put Erik in the past, she poured herself into the class. She worked her body relentlessly, pushing it harder than before. The pain was a welcome distraction. She knew she must look a sight, but for the first time in years she did not care what was whispered about her after rehearsal. What could they say? She was a hard worker, that was all.

The morning session ended all too soon, and she was surprised to find Madame Giry pull her aside. The ballet mistress said nothing, but there was something in her eyes that said she wanted to speak to her alone. Once all the members of the corps de ballet had left she bade Gia to take a seat, and handed her a towel.

"If some of these girls would work half as hard as you did today I would not be nervous about the gala," she said by way of opening the conversation.

The woman could speak in riddles, and Gia was in no mood for cat and mouse. "Madame Giry, what is it you want? If it is not important I would prefer to go to my room so I may rest before this afternoon," she retorted rather testily.

Madame Giry could see the young woman was annoyed so she came to the point, "I spoke with Erik last evening. He told me you had a falling out."

"How sweet of him to confide in you!" Gia snapped sarcastically and she made to stand up, wanting to be quit of the room.

"I am sure you have good reason to be upset. But Gia, this does not have to be the end. I urged him to try to look at things from your perspective. He told me that he would accept a letter from you. It is not as bad as it seems at the moment," she said in an attempt to relieve some of the pain. She tried to brush some of Gia's stray curls away, but that simply excited her.

"You nosy, busybody! How is any of what happened between Erik and I any of _your_ business? Why are you trying to play peacemaker between us? I know what I did is something that cannot ever be taken back! He left me with hardly a word. I will not grovel in a letter begging him to take me back! That would give him too much satisfaction!" she said before she stormed out of the room, filled with righteous anger.

Madame Giry watched Gia's retreating figure with interest. She found her mouth curling into a grin. Better she be angry than spending days mooning over Erik. If she put that anger into her dancing, she would give the audience a performance to remember.

"Maman, are you coming? I thought we were going to have lunch together before you go to the next rehearsal," asked Meg who was leaning into the doorway of the classroom. Her mother rose from the chair to join her, and when she reached her side Meg inquired further, "Did you see Gia Burnside a moment ago? What did you say to her after class? She looked furious. I thought she was quite good in class."

"It was nothing to do with her performance in class, Meg. Other than that, I cannot elaborate. It is a personal matter between us. I gave her some advice and I do not think it sat well with her," she answered enigmatically.

"Will she attend rehearsals this afternoon?"

"I do not know child. But I do not think she would be that reckless even if she in angry with me. She takes her position here very seriously."

Throughout their brief meal together Meg continued to think about Gia. She wished her mother would confide in her. She was not the child she was two years ago. Then it had been prudent for her mother to try to protect her from the drama that had surrounded Christine. This business with Gia seemed rather similar. Gia's emotions had been vacillating wildly over the past few days and it reminded her of how Christine had been alternately ecstatically in love one moment and afraid the next. It could only mean one thing: Gia was involved with a man, and her mother knew who it was!

Who could it possibly be? She had noted that Michel St. Andre had kissed her that one time, but he was a notorious flirt. Then yesterday, stupid Jean-Paul spent half of rehearsal staring at her and mentally undressing her with his eyes. He had absolutely no finesse! Neither seemed like the type of man Gia would be involved with. There was only one thing to be done, she would talk to her before rehearsal. If her mother wasn't around perhaps Gia would explain to her what had been going on.

Once the meal was over and her mother had gone to rehearse with the gentlemen Meg used the free time to try to track down Gia. It proved to be a simple task. She was in her room. Meg could barely make out her figure hunched over a desk, busily writing something. On the floor there were some papers that looked as though they had been torn then cast aside. Not wanting to enter without giving her notice, Meg rapped lightly on the door.

The noise startled Gia who had been trying to think of something to write to Erik. Despite her anger at him and her outburst to Madame Giry, the fact he said he would welcome a letter had heartened her. She had spent a better part of the last hour attempting to write him an apology but nothing seemed to be appropriate. At the sound of someone at her door, she raised her head, leery of who might be there. She was glad it was simply Meg Giry. A good gossip session might be just what the doctor ordered. She pushed aside her notes, and went to answer the door.

"Come in, Meg. What brings you here?" Gia said as she offered Meg a chair by her bookcase. Meg accepted seat, but before she sat down she oohed and aahed over Gia's book collection for a moment.

"My goodness you own a lot of books!" she said as she ran her hands along the spines. "I haven't read a quarter of these!" the young woman squealed as she reached the shelf containing the romance novels.

At that, Gia chuckled and said, "If your mother does not mind, you may borrow any you wish."

"Really? You are so nice, Gia. I don't know why Adrienne is so nasty when she talks about you. Why does she hate you so?" she questioned as she sat down.

Gia sat down on her bed and shrugged, "I wish I knew. I just think she sees me as some sort of threat which is ludicrous because she is younger and far prettier than me."

"You're pretty though Gia. Maybe not in the most conventional way, but still pretty."

"So says the girl with the countenance of an angel. But I thank you for paying me the compliment," she responded magnanimously.

The room fell silent while both women tried to think of something to say. Meg could no longer contain herself, and burst out with, "Gia, do you have a lover? I think you do, and I'm not asking because I wish to spread rumors, but I am curious. My mother won't discuss it with me. She treats me like a child."

Slightly taken aback, Gia searched for a way to answer the ballerina. "Your mother is just trying to protect you. My mother was the same way. Although I'm sure she did not have to beat the gentlemen away like your mother must have to!" she said, hoping the joke would distract her.

But Meg would not be put off, "It's just you remind me so much of my friend Christine. After she was reunited with Raoul it seemed she was either happy or sad. And she was always so distracted! But then in that case, there were two men involved. I told her it must have been dreadfully exciting to be the object of desire for two men."

"I do not know Christine well, but I imagine she was flattered but also very confused. As for me, I do not think your mother would want me to discuss something like this with you. I am hesitant to go against her wishes."

"I am not ignorant Gia! I well know what happens between men and women back stage. Is it as exciting as the books make it sound?"

"I suppose that depends on the books you have been reading, my dear," said Gia sternly, but she could feel her cheeks reddening.

Meg noticed immediately, and took it as proof. "There! If you could see yourself! You do have a lover! You must tell me all about him. I promise I won't tell a soul!" she cried as she made an "x" across her chest to indicate she was in earnest.

Gia took Meg's hands and said to her very seriously, "Meg, I really cannot discuss him with you. He would not want me to."

Meg pouted a moment, clearly not happy that Gia would not reveal his name. "Do you love him?"

The older woman paused and admitted, "I do, Meg. But I have reason to believe he does not return my affections. I think he still loves another woman. It is complicated."

Meg launched from the chair and landed next to Gia, and gave her a big hug, wanting to comfort her. "No wonder you have been out of sorts lately. He must be very stupid not to love you in return."

"I have not told him I love him."

"You should."

"I do not know if I should be taking advice from a silly girl like you, Meg" she teased, and Meg laughed. She then giggled, "What's _it_ like?" It was clear from her inflection exactly what Meg was getting at.

"I must confess it is rather nice," said Gia very primly.

"Nice? Maybe he isn't a very good lover," replied Meg. She had thought making love was supposed to be something more than "nice". She had heard so many stories over the past few years about how wonderful it was. Were all those women exaggerating?

Gia's eyes grew wide at Meg's off hand remark, and without thinking, she rushed to defend Erik. "Oh Meg, it's so much more than nice. Words can't really do justice to it. But my experience is most limited so I am not the best person to ask about it."

They both collapsed in a fit of giggles. It felt so good to be silly for a moment. They chatted about the ballet for a while, and soon it was time for the afternoon rehearsal to start. Before they left, Meg asked if she could borrow one of Gia's novels. Gia consented, but refused to loan her a romance novel until her mother approved it. While Gia looked through the books to find something she thought Meg would enjoy, Meg wandered around the small room a bit.

Certain that Gia was not paying attention, she snatched a couple pieces of paper off the floor and stuffed them as unobtrusively as possible into her ballet uniform. They would tell her who Gia's mysterious lover was! She accepted the book from Gia, and together they left for practice. Meg would not be able to look at the papers until after rehearsal.

* * *

Gripping the newspaper tightly, Raoul de Chagny bounded toward the nursery looking for his wife. There was exciting news about the Metropolitan's next production that he had to share with her. He had been surprised that no further letters had come for her in the last couple of days, but he supposed that could be to the poor condition of the roads in April.

He found his wife watching their son as he was making his first attempts to stand on his own and walk. She was encouraging him by clapping her hands and smiling every time he managed to get to his feet. When Philippe fell soundly on his rear and began to cry she scooped him up in her arms and sang to him. It was such a lovely tableau, Raoul almost felt guilty about disturbing it.

"Christine, I have something you must see in today's _Le Monde_!" he said excitedly as he handed her the paper which he had opened to the article he wanted her to see.

However before Christine could read the whole thing, he began to babble, "Isn't it exciting that the Metropolitan is going to perform _Giselle_ with Meg in the title role? Considering they haven't put on a ballet in years it's rather ambitious of them. I know you were hesitant about going back to Paris so soon, but we really must go to support Meg and Madame Giry."

Raoul was correct. It would be too strange if they did not attend given their strong connection to the Girys. It struck Christine that Erik most likely had something to do with the selection of the ballet, knowing that it would draw Christine and her husband to Paris again. "Certainly, my dear we shall go. I shall write to Madame Giry and Meg right away telling them we are coming and that they must try to set some time aside for us."

"Wonderful. Did you also see that Mlle. Burnside has a large role in the production as well? I thought she told us she had not danced in years. How odd that she was given the role of Myrta!" he mused aloud.

It was odd. Although Christine had never been an especially talented ballet dancer, she knew the kind of work that it took to stay in dancing shape. If Mlle. Burnside had not danced in ten years she would never be prepared for such a large part. There was definitely something not quite right about that. Next to Giselle, Myrta was often the largest role for a female dancer in the ballet. It was not a part to be handed out without careful consideration of the talents of the dancer in question. But then, Madame Giry would not have cast her in the role if she had not been certain that she could perform it.

Unless there was some sort of outside influence involved.

And Christine knew all too well who was capable of bringing that kind of pressure to bear. But why would he do something like that for Gianna Burnside? Could Erik be obsessed with her as he had once been with her? She made a mental note to also write a letter to Mlle. Burnside. She should be warned about what could happen if she had become the object of his desire. The only good thing was that if Erik was interested in Gianna it could mean he was no longer a threat to her, Raoul, and Philippe. Or was this all a ruse to draw her in? She did not doubt that he was capable of concocting such a scheme.

As she pondered this, Raoul interrupted her thoughts. "You know, we should make this trip a real family outing. We can take a house for a couple of weeks in the city and bring Philippe along. He will love seeing his godmother! He is certainly old enough to travel now."

"No, Raoul! It would be too dangerous," Christine cried, as she held her child tightly to her chest. Philippe must be nowhere near where Erik could easily take him.

"Don't be so overprotective, dear one! We shall bring the nanny and there will always be people to look after him. It is not as though he will be left alone," he countered. Why was she being so cautious? Something was wrong with his wife and she would not tell him what it was. He had been trying to draw it out of her and had been unsuccessful.

Christine was adamant, "I will not go to Paris if we bring Philippe!"

When she put the small boy down, Raoul could see her hands were shaking. She was clearly agitated and frightened that something could happen to him if they brought him with them. Seeking to calm her, Raoul sat down next to his wife on the floor of the nursery. He wrapped an arm around her and said in a low tone of voice so one could overhear their conversation, "Tell me what is wrong Christine! I told you I would always protect you. I would do no less for our child."

Christine looked into her husband's eyes and she yearned to tell him the truth. But the thought of betraying her former tutor was too much for her. She had nearly destroyed him once, it was the least she could do but protect him from her husband. She would only tell Raoul of Erik if she was certain that the posed a direct threat to them. The tone of his letter had not been threatening. She could not be certain that he was behind the recent goings on at the Metropolitan.

"Raoul nothing is wrong. I just fear that the city would not be good for our child. He could become ill. It is better if he stay here where we can be sure he will be safe."

It was a believable enough explanation. Young mothers often fretted over such things, Raoul thought. It would not do to make her more upset than she already was. He agreed to her demands, but he could help his unease. If she would not confide in him, he would have to start watching her correspondence. He despised the idea of invading her privacy, but she was giving him little choice. He would instruct Piquet that all of the viscomtess's outgoing correspondence should be brought to him before they were mailed. He prayed that her deception was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

Raoul adjourned from the room in a far different mood than when he had entered it.


	28. 28

**A/N: I'm back from my little trip and I did quite a bit of writing while I was away. I completed this chapter, and I've made a decent start on the next one which I hope to have up in the next day or so. I hope you all enjoy this. Please read and review. Thanks as always to my beta, interminablesadness. Be sure to check out her story "Talk of Summertime" if you haven't already done so.**

* * *

"Meg Giry, are you paying attention?" came the annoyed voice of her mother from across the ballet practice room. In truth, she had not. Meg had been decidedly preoccupied during the rehearsal, her mind constantly wandering off. She simply wanted the rehearsal to be completed so she would have time to read the papers that she had snatched off of Gia's floor earlier.

"I am sorry, Maman. I was just somewhere else," she apologized.

"I should say so! If you cannot stay focused on the task at hand I shall start rehearsing your understudy. I am sure Claire Margaux would rather be here than dancing in the corps," her tone indicating that she would brook no more excuses from her child.

Madame Giry ran a tight ship and she expected everyone to abide by her rules. Some might consider her a petty tyrant, but there was no doubt the woman got results. Dissatisfied with her daughter, she brought Gianna Burnside and Jean-Paul Chretien to the forefront to work for a while, leaving Meg alone at the front of the room. Georges Huget was there as well, but he seemed absorbed in watching Gia.

Georges was the leading male dancer in the company and was very good looking. He had always been very quiet, and although he saw women from time to time, he had never had a long attachment to anyone. With his black hair, hazel eyes, and strong dancer's build he had been the discerning woman's choice for most eligible bachelor among the men in the opera company. Some women complained he was not very exciting and seemed more interested in work than girls, but the fact was Georges was not very sure of himself around them. His good looks had never made him over confident unlike his counterpart Jean Paul.

It was rather amusing to watch as Jean Paul was doing his best to seduce Gia Burnside and failing miserably. Anytime he got close to her she backed away, and she rolled her eyes at nearly everything the pompous ass said. Georges had always liked Gia and he was thrilled she seemed to show the excellent taste in men by brushing off her over eager suitor. Finally Jean Paul made the mistake of grabbing Gia by the hand when she had not given him leave to do so. She reacted immediately, yanking her hand away and threatened to slap him if he took any further liberties. Madame Giry admonished them both that they must get along for the next few weeks, but Georges was sure that the ballet mistress sided with her new pupil.

He had been intently watching Gia every since he had seen her arrive with Meg at rehearsal. The two had been chatting very amiably, and in those unguarded moments Gia looked younger than her twenty-six years. It seemed that the two were friendly. He was hopeful that after rehearsal he might speak with her for a few minutes about Meg Giry who he been pining for since her arrival at the opera house. He wanted to approach the ballet mistress about courting her daughter but he was concerned she would not want her daughter to become involved with a mere dancer, especially since playing Giselle would garner her a great deal of attention from other far richer men than he. If he had an ally, someone who was liked by both Meg and Madame Giry then it might be easier.

He glanced over at Meg, not wanting to linger too long, lest she realize the depth of his regard for her. She must have thought no one was watching because she was pouring over some crumpled sheets of paper. Once she finished reading them, he noticed she stuffed the papers within the pages of the book that she had brought with her to class. Was someone sending her love letters? If he lost her before he even had the chance to approach her mother he would have no one to blame but himself and his cowardice.

Madame Giry was finishing up with Gia and Jean Paul, and she asked them to sit while Georges and Meg worked on their pas de deux from the first act. It was so difficult to be this close to Meg and not tell her how much she entranced him. To him she was a living angel with her blonde hair and light blue eyes. He simply adored her. Everyday he told himself that someday he would be able to have a conversation with her that was not just about dancing.

The rehearsal ended and as usual Madame Giry thanked them all for their continued efforts. He planned to approach Gia after rehearsal, but she moved so quickly, he was not able to catch up with her until she was far down the hall. To get her attention, he tapped her on the shoulder and was rewarded with a hard slap across the face.

"Oh my goodness Georges, I am so sorry! I thought you must be that dreadful Jean Paul back again to harass me," she said, clearly sorry for what she had done.

His face still stung, and there would almost certainly be handprint visible on his face. "It's alright Gia, I should have known better. He is a pest isn't he? I must say, you can hit harder than I imagined!"

"I learned a long time ago a woman should be able to protect herself," she replied seriously. "Is there something I can help you with? I can't imagine you risked bodily injury without reason."

Georges laughed, pleased that Gia was not without some sense of humor. She had always seemed so guarded, but less so more recently. He imagined some of that had to be nerves. It could not be an easy thing returning to something that one had thought lay in the past. From what he had seen so far in rehearsal, she was doing quite well for someone of her age. He almost wished that he was dancing opposite her instead of Meg, he would probably be far more relaxed around Gia than her. But then Meg would be partnered by Jean Paul, and that would have been far more difficult to endure,

Unsure of exactly the best entry to the conversation, Georges decided it was best to be candid. "I wanted to talk to you about Meg Giry. You both seem very close," he said, keeping his voice low so no one would overhear them.

"I would not say were are very close, but we are friendly. She's a delightful girl and she will be wonderful in the ballet. It's going to be a turning point in her career. But what do you want to know about Meg? I'm not certain there is a great deal I can tell you about her," said Gia kindly. She could tell from Georges expression that the young man's interest was most likely a romantic one. There was a particular look in his eyes when he had spoken her name. He was in love. Perhaps she only recognized it as only as a fellow sufferer could.

Impulsively, Georges took Gia by the hand and dragged her to a more secluded corner. "Oh Gia, you cannot know how much I endure every day being near her and being unable to tell her how I feel! Do you think I have any hope of ever winning her?"

How wrong the boy was. She knew all too well, but she could not reveal that to him. Her eyes misted over and she took his hand in turn, "Georges I cannot claim to know Meg's heart, but I do not see why she would object to you as long as your intentions are honorable."

"It is not Meg I am as concerned about. Do you think her mother will allow me to court her? Her daughter is going to be a great prima ballerina and I am only a dancer. She could have a duke if she wanted one," he said, almost resigned that he would never measure up to a gentleman of noble birth.

"Madame Giry is no fortune hunter. I am sure she would rather Meg keep company with a man who wished to marry her than someone who would only make her his mistress," returned Gia, hoping it would reassure him.

"But didn't her good friend, a mere chorus girl marry a viscomte a couple of years ago? Perhaps her mother holds out hope for a similar match," he countered.

"Madame Giry is a realist. Matches such as that one happen rarely, and I do believe there were some extenuating circumstances involved. The two people in that case knew each other as children, and there was that nasty business with the Phantom that drew them together," she added, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Would you be willing to intercede on my behalf? I do not feel I know her well enough to approach her,"

"Georges," she said, looking deeply into his eyes, "How deeply do you care for Meg?"

"I love her!"

"If you love her enough, you will find the strength to speak to her mother. Madame Giry is an intimidating woman at times, but she is a very kind and caring person. In private, she is far less stern. I would suggest that you speak to her before the next rehearsal, I cannot imagine she would turn you away. Meg is eighteen now, and you seem a sincere suitor." Hopefully that would give him the necessary encouragement. Georges was a good and honest man, and although he might not be wealthy, Meg could do far worse.

Elated at Gia's words, Georges excitedly gave Gia a warm embrace and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thank you so much for your advice! I shall speak to Madame Giry tomorrow!" he said before he ran off to the dormitories where all the men slept, leaving Gia alone in the hallway. She had been shocked at the quick peck, and had brought her hand up to cover where his lips had carelessly brushed her face. Her hand lingered a moment and then turned toward the dormitories to seek her own room.

* * *

Gia had only thought that she had been alone in the hallway. Had she been more observant she would have seen a pair of aquamarine eyes burning with hidden fire nearby. Erik had followed her from practice, eager to observe her. He had been ruminating on Madame Giry's advice and he wished to see for himself whether Gia was in love with him. Earlier he had witnessed her small tirade when Madame Giry had revealed that he would accept a letter from him. That certainly did not fit with the picture of a woman in love. Should she not be prostrate with grief and refusing to leave her room? Instead the mere mention of his name had caused her temper to flare. 

He had considered following her to her room so he could listen to her through the wardrobe, but somehow that now seemed to be an intrusion. He had however gone to the dormitories and watched as Meg Giry paid her a visit. He had heard their girlish giggles through the door but not the substance of the conversation because he dare not approach the door where he could be seen. They had left the small room together with Meg holding a book, no doubt one from Gia's collection. Both young women were in good spirits although Meg seemed oddly nervous about something.

Knowing they would in rehearsal for the next few hours, he had gone back to his underground lair. So frustrated he could not compose, he had withdrawn the long concealed musical score to _Don Juan Triumphant_ and began to play it. The music was cathartic, and he quickly became absorbed in it, turning page after page, completely forgetting the time. Before he knew it, he had reached the final page. It was only once the final note faded away, Erik realized if he wished to see Gia after practice he would have to hurry.

When he arrived at the practice rooms they were deserted, but he did find her in the hallway, talking rather intimately with one of the male dancers. They were holding hands and speaking in low voices. The boy was rather handsome, if not very tall, he coldly noted. He was probably about Gia's age, perhaps a bit younger. Most certainly younger than himself who would be nearing forty all too soon. He watched as Gia stared into the young man's eyes, her eyes soft and caring as though he were the only man in the world. Had she ever looked at him like that? Or had he been too concerned with himself to notice it?

Erik did not know what they had been discussing, but Gia must have said something that pleased the boy because he had kissed her quickly on the cheek. Even then, he hoped for some sign of her love, but she did not wipe the kiss from her cheek. No, her hand had stayed there, as though she was committing it to memory.

This was the woman who was supposed to be in love with him! Where were her tears now? Had he meant that little to her than less than a day later she was cavorting in dark corners with strange men? Allowing another man to touch her? To kiss her?

It was as he suspected: women were a faithless, fickle species. She was no different from Christine who had seized upon the first man who showed an interest in her once she saw his true face. What a fool he had been! He had begun to believe her when she said that his face did not disgust her and that he did not need to hide away from the world. But when given the option of a perfect face to his masked one, she selected the latter.

And the boy wasn't even a real gentleman! It might have stung less if the boy had money or a title, but he was a mere dancer. The male lead, which Erik supposed was something to his merit, but what could he possibly offer he besides a pretty face and decent body? She had to know the reputation of most male dancers. Most either avoided women altogether or slept with any woman they could their hands on. He had thought Gia would be more circumspect when selecting her next lover. She should at least be with someone who could take of her well. Did she put that little worth on herself that she would settle so quickly? Or was she simply _that_ shallow?

Disgusted, Erik decided there was no point in following her any longer. He would leave her be unless he received word from Madame Giry that Gia had a letter for him. He did not expect to hear from her ever again.

* * *

Gia hoped that finally she would be alone. Today she had barely any time to herself between practice and Meg's unexpected visit. In a way it has been a good thing because she had not been allowed to dwell on what had happened between her and Erik. Uncharitably she felt jealous of Meg who had attracted the attention of Georges Huget. Mentally she berated herself for not being happy for the girl. Meg deserved to have someone care about her in that all encompassing way. It was simply difficult to feel anything but resentment because of her recent disappointment. 

Today she was less exhausted and this evening she took the time to take a sponge bath before she slipped on a light nightdress and her robe. That done, she rinsed her stockings and washed the bodice of the old dance uniform, then hung them up to dry on the top of her screen. Tomorrow during the afternoon she would have to pay a visit to the dance shop and purchase a couple of extra pairs of stockings and shoes. It was a good thing that on Friday Monsieur Dupoix would hand out a generous stipend for shoes to all the female dancers. Her meager savings was going to be severely depleted by the necessary purchases.

Feeling assured that she had completed all the tasks that had to be done before she could return to the letter, she returned to her vanity where she had been trying to write to Erik. It had been nearly impossible to string a coherent sentence together. She either sounded like a lovesick child or the words had no emotion at all. Frustrated she put down the fountain pen, and began looking for the previous drafts. There might be something in them that would give her a place to start. The papers were scattered around the chair, and she retrieved them, having to smooth out the wrinkles, and in some cases try to match up missing pieces.

As she looked through the papers, Gia noticed that there seemed to be less of them than she had imagined. But that could simply be her imagination. It was only as she read through them that it became clear a couple of sheets were missing. Horrified, Gia began to look all around the desk, hoping she would come across the missing papers. She looked under her bed, but the floor was totally bare. The only conclusion to draw was that someone had taken them.

It could not have been Adrienne, as Gia was careful to keep the room locked at all times when she was not in the room. She supposed Erik could have snatched them while she was in rehearsal. Oh God, had he read her thoughts before she could make sense of them? However, if Erik had been here, it seemed out of character that he would take something with him, alerting her to his presence. Before he had introduced himself to her, he had come and gone from her room without her knowledge. He was far too calculating to make such an impulsive mistake. It was something an inquisitive child would do.

It had to be Meg.

Shaking, Gia sat down on the bed, wracking her brain, trying to recall what she had written. Had she used Erik's name? Had she stupidly referred to in any way one their amorous encounters? That would give the young Mademoiselle Giry a shock. Would she know who Erik was? She might know the name from Christine, but she might not assume that Christine's Erik and Gia's Erik were the same man. However, there were probably details in the portions of the letters she had that would make that clear.

What would Meg do with that kind of information? Most likely contact Christine, who would know by now that Erik was still alive from his letter. Only now she would learn that Erik had taken up with another woman who had fallen in love with him. Christine would probably realize that Gia had attended that dinner only because Erik had ordered it. If that disturbed her, she might tell her husband, if she had not done so already. Gia could not help wondering what the viscomtess's reaction would be to learning that Erik had taken a woman to his bed. Would she be relieved thinking that it meant Erik no longer wanted her?

Far worse though, Gia could not be sure how well Meg could hold her tongue. Meg might swear that she could keep a confidence, but Gia could easily imagine Erik's name slipping out accidentally to someone. Not only would that confirm the rumors, if Erik overheard his name being linked to his, he might take umbrage and become angry that somehow his name had become public knowledge. This was a complete disaster!

First Gia locked the door, then grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and her pen, she scrawled a few words onto a piece of paper. Without a thought to her manner of dress, she cautiously opened the door to the wardrobe and felt along the back panels looking for the latch that would open it. Just when she was certain she'd never find it, her right index finger ran across a level that loosened one of the boards. As it was solid wood, it was heavy and Gia had some difficulty setting it aside gently. But she was determined that she would reach Erik and let him know what had happened, and she would not let anything prevent her from seeing him a final time.

In one hand she clutched the note that would determine if he could ever forgive her. She could only hope he believed its contents.


	29. 29

**A/N: Thank you so much for the continued kind words and encouragement. I hope you all enjoy this installment, and let me know what you think of it.**

* * *

As Meg walked with her mother back to their rooms, she tuned out her mother who was saying something about her woeful behavior during rehearsal. All she could think of were the snatches of the notes that Gia had written. No wonder she had not wanted to discuss her lover! They must have argued because Gia had been pleading for him to forgive her for her foolish mistake. The man's name was familiar, but she could not immediately place it.

Erik.

It was an unusual name, and as far as Meg could recall, she knew no one at the opera house had that name. Meg would have been willing to bet money that Gia's mysterious lover would have to be someone who lived at the Metropolitan. She rarely left the place, and if she had been sneaking out to meet someone the grooms would have been the first to talk. Then why did the name seem so familiar? Perhaps it would come to her later.

"Marguerite Giry, have you heard one word I have said? Where is your head child? Answer me, girl!" snapped Madame Giry. The child had been in a fog the entire afternoon. Ever since she had come from Gianna Burnside's room with that book. The book itself was a collection of poetry, and seemed innocuous enough. They must have discussed something that was preoccupying her daughter. Meg was far too inquisitive for her own good and she might have learned more than she wanted to. But Meg did not seem upset, merely giddy and distracted. Had Gia told her about Erik? Antoinette could not imagine she would do so freely.

In the meantime they had reached their quarters and Meg knew it would be best if she waited until they were safely inside to answer her mother's question. The door slid shut nearly silently and Madame Giry drew the bolt across the door firmly. That was the signal it would be relatively safe to speak without anyone overhearing as long they kept their voices low.

"Maman, I am sorry, but I have been trying to remember if there is anyone at the opera house with the name Erik. The name seems so familiar, but I cannot think of anyone here with the name," Meg said and flopped gracefully onto the bed.

At the mention of Erik's name, Madame Giry's eyes grew wide and she had to fight to keep her composure. "Meg, where did you learn that name?" she asked as evenly as possible, when what she wanted to do was shake her violently.

"From Gia. It's her lover's name," she said casually.

"Did she tell you that herself?" Madame Giry knew Meg must be holding something back. She was fidgeting and she was not looking directly at her. "Do not lie to me. You know I cannot abide falsehoods."

"Oh Maman, I did a terrible thing this afternoon. I saw that she had been writing a letter to someone, and I thought it might be her lover, so when her back was turned I took a couple pages. In the letter she calls him Erik," she said as her eyes filled with tears. It had seemed like such a harmless thing to do a few hours ago, but having to admit to stealing to her mother filled her with shame.

Giry took a set next to her child on the bed. "I will not say I am not disappointed in you my child, but what is done is done. And now that you know his name, I will admonish you not to mention that name to a soul at the Metropolitan."

"Who is he? Do we know him?" It was as she spoke that Meg suddenly recalled where she knew that name. Christine had told her that Erik had been the Phantom's real name. Christine had only learned it when he had forced her to put on the wedding dress after he had abducted her. She had demanded to learn the name of the man she was to marry willingly or no, and he had simply said it was Erik. He had given no last name. He most likely did not have one. "No, it cannot be the same man! How could Gia be with such a monster? After what he did to the Opera Populaire and to poor Christine and Raoul?"

"I thought you felt sympathy for Monsieur le Fantôme," Madame Giry reminded her daughter.

"I suppose I do. It must be dreadful going through life with such a face. But Gia told me she loved him. Doesn't she know who he is? We must warn her! He could hurt her!" exclaimed Meg, becoming agitated. She got up to leave, but her mother clamped a hand on her shoulder.

"I can assure you, Gia knows who Erik is and what he has done in the past. If she does love him as she told you, that does not matter to her. Remember Meg, this is not our business. They are grown people."

"But he is a wanted man! We are breaking the law by not reporting him to the police. How do we know he will not kill people again or try to control this place as he did the Populaire?"

Madame Giry sat her daughter back down, and stared at her squarely in the eyes, "What makes you think he has not already made his influence evident?"

Meg gasped. It all made sense. Now she knew why _Giselle_ had been selected as the current production and why she and Gia were given such prominent roles in the production. "Does Christine know he is back?"

Her mother nodded. "He asked me to send a letter to her from him. I do not know what his intentions are toward her, but I am hopeful that now that Gia is in his life he can put her behind him. I believe he loves Gia, even if he has not yet admitted that to himself. I can only hope the two of them can overcome their stubbornness long enough to forgive each other!"

"Gia was asking him to forgive her in the letter. She said she was sorry and knew what she did was wrong. What did she do?" she asked her mother. Love was never this complicated in books. People simply fell in love and would tell each so and live happily ever after. But if Meg thought on it, she had never known anyone who had found love in an uncomplicated way. Look at poor Christine! And now Gia was in love with Erik. Maybe they could find their happy ending together. She echoed that sentiment to her mother.

"I hope so, child. They have both had a great deal of tragedy in their lives and deserve some happiness." At that, Madame Giry settled into the bed with her daughter and began telling her the tale she told Raoul two years about how she had made Erik's acquaintance and brought him to the Opera Populaire. Meg listened intently, and Madame Giry continued to speak until she concluded by telling her daughter what she knew of Erik and Gia and how they had become estranged when Gia admitted to reading the letter that Christine had recently sent to Erik. The ballet mistress admonished her daughter that none of this information was to be discussed with anyone outside of the room. She also took the pieces of the letter Gia had composed, tore them into small pieces and tossed them into a dustbin.

Meg nodded. In the wrong hands, information that the Phantom lived could be the death of them all at the hands of the hangmen. Or the guillotine.

* * *

Sitting in front of him on the massive English walnut desk were two letters. They had been delivered by Piquet five minutes ago. As yet Raoul had not been able to bring himself to open them. He had never intruded into his wife's correspondence and he did not which to breach the trust between them. However, he knew he would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Christine and he had nothing to protect her.

He set them aside and tried to turn to his own business correspondence, but the presence of letters on his desk was a continued distraction. He picked up the letters again, one in each hand and studied them. One letter was addressed to Madame Giry and Meg, the other was to Gianna Burnside. He had not expected that Christine would write to her without receiving a letter from her first. Such a thing was beneath a viscomtess. But those social niceties had never really mattered to her, or to him frankly. He supposed that Christine was writing to congratulate her on the role in _Giselle_ and perhaps invite her to dinner once again. She had been an entertaining dinner companion and he hoped that Gia would consent to joining them. Raoul set that letter aside unopened.

He was far more interested on what Christine was writing to Madame Giry and Meg about. It had been their letters that had caused the change in her temperament, and it stood to reason that she would write to them about her concerns. He broke the seal as gently as possible that way he could reseal it easily. The contents of the letter ultimately proved to be disappointing. It read:

_Dearest Madame Giry and Meg,_

_Today Raoul and I learned from the newspaper that the Metropolitan has made _Giselle_ its next production. We are so happy to hear that Meg shall be the star! We had been invited by Monsieur Dupoix to attend the opening performance, and since Meg shall be making her all important debut as prima ballerina we would not miss it for the world. I imagine Raoul shall write Dupoix to tell him we will be attending. _

_We were also surprised to learn that Mademoiselle Burnside will be playing a large role as well. You must tell us how that came about! Please offer her my congratulations. I am sending a letter to her as well, and I hope that she will want to see me when we come to Paris. If you are agreeable I should like us all to have dinner together once again._

_Raoul says we may make this trip a second honeymoon and spend two full weeks in the city. I am still not certain I want to be away from Philippe that long, but the idea of spending two weeks with you both would be wonderful! Once the season ends you both must come visit us in the country._

_I look forward to your next letter most eagerly._

_With all my love,_

_Christine._

Raoul put the letter down and was assailed with guilt. It gave no clue as to why Christine was so adamant that Paris was not safe for their child. The tone of the note was relaxed and jovial. Her only mention of their child was that she was concerned she would miss him if she was away so long. God, he had invaded her privacy for nothing! Sometimes he was still very much the stupid boy the Phantom had accused him of being.

Using a candle, he carefully heated the underside of the seal, and re-affixed it to the letter. He rang for Piquet and in a few moments he arrived with the tray and Raoul placed the letters on it and instructed that they be delivered express. The servant simply responded, "Yes, sir," bowed and retreated from the room as silently as he had entered it.

Once he left, Raoul raked a hand through his hair. He was no closer than he was five minutes ago to discovering Christine's secret. He could only hope that he was overreacting and that nothing was wrong. Perhaps he was looking for something because he had never been satisfied that they would ever be truly safe in their marriage. He wanted to believe that the Phantom was dead, but no body had ever been recovered. That had never sat well with him. Still, if he had survived, would he not have come for Christine long ago?

Raoul never doubted that he loved her. He had seen how broken the man had been at the kiss she had given him. He had watched him shatter emotionally and physically. One moment he had been threatening to kill him and in the next he was screaming at them to get out of his sight, all the while weeping for his beloved, unconscious of his tears. Whatever evil that man had wrought, it had been out of his feelings for Christine, and in that Raoul could sympathize. She could drive a man to do insane things. She truly had never grasped how utterly enthralled both men had been with her. Raoul would have cut the Phantom down without flinching had she not stayed his hand in the cemetery. It would not have bothered him in the least. But she wanted him spared, and he would do as she wished.

It was the closest he had ever come to killing a man, and at that moment it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. It had not been so much about protecting Christine, but ridding himself of the chief rival for her love. That he had been so willing to take a life was something that disturbed him. He had never told his wife that. He had not wanted to burden her with it. He suspected that he would kill for her if she ever asked him to do so. Perhaps he and the Phantom were not as different as he had thought. He would never know how he would have reacted if on that night she had chosen the Phantom over him. He only knew he did not believe he would have had the strength to let her go.

In that, he had to admit that the Phantom had been the better man.

* * *

Gia had reached the point where she either had to turn back or go forward into the unknown. She had reached the water's edge and there was no gondola waiting there. She would either have to brave the brackish, foul smelling liquid or return to her room. She could swim a little, and did not fear drowning, but she knew that she risked disease and illness if she got wet. She had to make a decision quickly, her bare feet were freezing on the cobblestones. Not that the water would be warmer.

She had come too far to be a coward now. She removed her robe not wishing to ruin it, and left it a good distance from the shore. The moment her toes got damp, the sharp chill of the water shot through her system. She wadded the note into a ball, and wrapped her fist around it, hoping that would protect it from the water. She would walk as long as she keep her head above the water.

The brownish water reached her waist, and she trudged forward, each step a great deal of effort because of the cold. Focusing on her goal and using the pain as motivation, she kept moving forward, increasing her pace. The water was becoming deeper, and soon it had reached her chest. She could hear her teeth chattering, and her nipples were painfully erect. Every hair on her body that wasn't wet was raised, trying to protect her body from the assault of the water.

Undeterred, Gia moved forward. It would not be too much farther. The water was now just past her shoulders and the ends of her hair were wet. It would smell foul later. This nightgown was a total loss. To shield the note, she had raised her hands far above her head. In the distance she could see a light and it heartened her. The light called to her, and soon she could hear the unmistakable strains of Erik's music coming across the water. It was so melancholy and beautiful. For a moment she stopped to listen to it, forgetting what she was standing in.

The reverie passed, and she moved ever closer to end of her journey. The depth of the water was beginning to subside, and now it was possible to move somewhat easier through the water. He did not hear her until she was about ten feet from the shore, his music was that resounding.

When Erik heard the sound of lapping water, his hands stopped playing, and he flew around ready to face whoever had dared intrude on his home. He had never expected to find a soaking wet Gia, slogging through the water, her nightdress plastered to her body like second skin. It was far from erotic. She was trembling with cold, and the gown was actually stained from the water. Whatever could have brought her here?

He did not wait for an explanation, nor did he ask for one. Instead he went to his bedroom and came back bearing a blanket that he wrapped her in the moment she emerged from the water.

"You need to take that thing off, it will only make you ill," he said as he gently pulled at the soaked garment. Resigned, she allowed him to help her remove it, but she kept the blanket protectively around herself. Her lips were blue, and she was still shivering violently. She needed to get warm and quickly.

"Gia, I want you to wait right here. I'm going to draw you a bath so you can get warm."

"Nnnn, nnnn, no!" she was barely able to spit out, but he ignored her, and began to fill his wooden tub behind the screen. Once that was done, he added a generous amount of lavender oil and left a lavender bar of soap for her to use. The scent was one she had worn in the past, and it might be help her relax. When she protested, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder then deposited her next to the tub. She made no move to get into it, and he ripped the blanket away. For a moment, she stood there nude. But the inviting steam and smell filled her senses and she stepped into the water.

Seeing that she had done something logical, he left her alone, but he did not go too far because he wanted to be ready for her once she finished. He needed to know why she had come and what she had risked her health for.

Gia basked in the warmth of the bath. She had never thought she would be warm again. As she relaxed into the water, she opened her palm, and the note dropped out onto the floor. She dunked her head under the water and washed her hair, hoping that the scent of lavender would mask the odor of the water. If it did not, she would have to consider cutting a good chunk of her hair off. After washing and rinsing it twice, she moved on to washing the rest of herself.

As though he could sense her thoughts, Erik appeared, carrying a large towel, a robe, a nightgown of some sort, and a hair brush. He set everything down but the towel, and opened it, averting his eyes so she could step into it. Grateful at his show of modesty, she took the towel from him. He left her alone so she could see to herself, and he noticed out of the corner of his eye a stray ball of parchment lying not far from his feet. He made a mental note of it, and reminded himself to take care of it once she had gone to sleep.

Both the robe and nightdress were made of red silk and slid sensuously along her now warm flesh. The nightdress was relatively simple, with no lace embellishments. It had small straps and a deep v-neckline than plunged into her cleavage. From there, it simply flowed down her body, ending at her ankles. The robe was a perfect match although it included some oriental detailing. Had he had this made for her? It had to be since it fit her so well.

Once she ran the brush through her hair to rid it of tangles, she walked out from behind the screen to face him. He was waiting for her behind his desk, impeccably dressed without a hair out of place. His imperious pose was quite a contrast with hers. She cleared her throat and took a seat in the chair in he provided. She noted he did not stand or move to assist her.

"Why did you come here?" he asked evenly, determined he would not lose his temper with her.

It would be best not to equivocate, and Gia was not one to beat around the bush. "I wanted to inform you that I believe Meg Giry knows about us and who you are precisely."

"And how did that happen? Did you tell her?"

Annoyed that he would have such little faith in her, Gia coldly responded, "She had already discerned I had a lover. I refused to tell her his name. When my back was turned she took some of the cast away papers I had been trying to write to you with. _That_ is how she learned your name. I can only assume that she will figure out who Erik is. She is not a stupid woman."

He cocked his visible eyebrow at this little revelation. So, she had been trying to write to him? Had he been all wrong about how she felt about him? "But why the urgency? You could have waited to tell me. You could have simply given a note to Madame Giry. I know you got my message."

That could only mean that he had been spying on her again. Had he seen her with Georges? From a distance their chat would not look innocent to his eyes. It would go a long way to explain his standoffishness. "I did not want you to think I had betrayed you again. I felt obligated to tell you myself, in person, that my carelessness had compromised you."

Erik was uncertain how to respond to that. If she did not care for him, she would have done nothing. Rising he said, "Thank you. I appreciate your forthrightness. It is an added complication, but Antoinette should keep the girl in check. That woman has a way of knowing when someone has been up to no good. I expect she had already gotten Meg to confess her naughty behavior."

Gia stood, thanked him for the clothes, and turned toward the boat, but Erik came to her side and took her by the hand. "I want you to stay with me the night, Gia. Please."

He had never said that to her. Was he ready to forgive her? It was too much to hope for so soon. "Erik, I do not think I would be comfortable—it's too soon,"

He interrupted her, and interjected, "I expect nothing from you. But you should stay here. I do not want you to catch your death on the way back. You need to stay warm for a few hours. If you do not want to stay I will bring you back." Although she did not say anything, he could see her assent in her eyes. He brought her to the bed, holding her hand the entire time, wanting to have some contact with her. Once she was under the sheets he added extra blankets.

"Aren't you going to join me?" she asked, disappointment hanging on every word. She preferred the warmth of his body to any blanket.

"I will join you later. I find I am not tired at the moment." He further admonished her to rest, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, like that he imagined a mother would give a sick child. That brought a small smile to her face as she closed her eyes.

After a few minutes, he left her to clean up after her bath. He saw the paper lying on the stone floor and put aside, being careful not to get it wet. Once everything had been tidied up, he brought the paper to his desk and began to uncurl it. The handwriting was slightly messy as though the note had been written in great haste. The script was not especially feminine, and it did not appear to be anyone's he was familiar with. The writing was slightly smeared as the writer had not waited for the ink to dry completely before abusing the paper. Gia must have carried it with her in her hand which would account for much of the damage. But as the words became clear, he had to remind himself to breathe. The note consisted of six words:

_Dear Erik,_

_I love you._

_Gia._


	30. 30

**A/N: For those of you who have been hoping for more smut, I give you this! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as I am a bit anxious about it. Please read and review.**

* * *

Erik could only stare at Gia's note. How he wanted it to be true! For most of his adult life he had yearned for a woman to love him, all of him, without reservation. Her note was unambiguous and to the point: she loved him. Erik knew he had to consider that she might not mean it, that it was just a ploy, but his heart had other ideas. It told him Gia would not lie to him about how she felt about him. She had never done so in the past, and there was no incentive for her lie now. What Gia did was hide her emotions because she was afraid of what admitting them would mean. For her, putting those words to paper was a leap of faith.

He held the note carefully in his hands, almost certain it would shatter if handled roughly. For a moment, he set it back down on the desk, then opened the drawer where he kept his most precious possessions: the score to _Don Juan Triumphant_ and Christine's engagement ring. To them he added Gia's letter. He would cherish it always as a reminder that at least one woman had loved him.

But he was at a loss at what he should do armed with this knowledge. His heart was screaming at him to go to his bed, tell her how he felt, and make passionate love to her for the first time. His mind told him he must guard his heart, he could not be certain she truly loved him. Hours earlier she had been in the arms of another man. She had violated his trust by reading Christine's letter and it was her fault that Meg Giry was now aware of his continued existence and that he was Gia's lover. If Antoinette did not control her, she could ruin them all.

He pushed himself away from the desk and his first thought was to go to the organ and play. However that was not an option because he did not want to wake her. Instead he paced back and forth along the shore, going over the events of the last few days, his mind and heart at war with each other. He was almost tempted to sit back down and make a list so he might go over it and analyze this problem from a distance.

Erik could not be sure how much time passed, but the walking and thinking were exhausting him. He needed to rest for a few hours, and he would have to do it next to Gia. He had promised her that he would sleep by her side, and after he had been the one to implore her not to leave him, it would be rude and ungracious. Besides, he told himself, she might need the warmth of his body. She was almost certain to catch a cold from her sojourn through the sewers, and the added blankets might not be enough to keep her warm. If she became seriously ill, he would be there to help her. He could not abandon her after what she had braved to come to him. She knew his temper all too well and what he was capable of, and yet she had still come. Not out of mere loyalty and concern, but love.

He did not deserve her.

If he had any sense, he would wake her in a couple of hours, take her back to her room then leave Paris. Her heart would recover in time. It would be the safest course of action for them both; her reputation would no longer be at risk and he would no longer need to be concerned about discovery. She would understand. She might shed a few tears, but she would let him go. And that was why in his heart he knew he could not leave her.

Erik returned to his bedroom, and pulled out the ottoman she had once kicked at him, and brought it over to the bedside. He watched her toss and turn, restless, her body contorting into different positions trying to find one that suited her. In the process, she had managed to knock off two of the blankets he had heaped upon the bed. At the moment, she was lying on her front, her head turned toward him, her still damp curls tossed to the side. Suddenly she flipped to the other side, facing away from him as she drew herself into a ball to try to consolidate her body heat.

He could not stand to watch her any longer and do nothing. Quickly, he removed his mask and stripped off his clothes, but knowing his nudity might unsettle her, he put on a pair of black silk pajama bottoms that he rarely wore any longer. He had found in recent days he far preferred the feel of his sheets against his bare skin to anything else. If anything, it reminded him of Gia's soft skin when she was not there. He had not slept well since they had parted; the nightmares of the evil he had done were a constant theme when he attempted to take any rest.

In an effort to comfort her as much as himself, Erik slipped into the bed noiselessly and pulled her to him, enveloping her in his arms and against his chest. The smell of lavender clung to her hair and intoxicated him. Sensing his presence, she rubbed the side of her face against his neck, pleased that he had finally taken his place beside her. Her hands which had been curled up against her chest relaxed, and one came to rest on his silk covered thigh.

His stupid body reacted immediately to her innocent touch, hoping that it was a mere prelude to more. Erik tried to think of something that would quell his arousal but all he could think of was her wrapping herself around him as she told him she loved him and wanted to be his. If he did not bring himself under control, she would feel him poking into her backside. Sometimes he disgusted himself. What Gia needed was rest, not his randy cock. Had the situation been different he simply would have relieved himself. His hands were used to such work, God knew how many times they had brought him to empty fulfillment before Gia became his lover. He had to hope that if he lay still long enough his desire would subside.

* * *

Gia had realized he was getting into the bed when she felt the telltale whisper of air that indicated the sheets were being pulled back. Lying in his embrace made her feel warm and protected. She wondered if he had found the note she left lying by the bathing tub. She had thought he noticed it, but she could not be certain. She should have handed it to him proudly instead of tossing it onto the floor like garbage. Would he think that was what it was? Something she had tossed aside because she wished to be rid of it? Nothing could be farther from the truth. Gia had simply lacked the courage to look at him as he read it. She would not be able to bear it if he turned away from her, or worse laughed at her sentiments.

Despite all those misgivings, she wanted him to know how she felt about him. He might not believe her, but she would not look back with regret because she never told Erik she loved him. Eventually he would find it, was what she told herself as she tried to fall asleep. Now that he was holding her, she let her hands drop down, and one brushed up against his leg before it came to a stop on his powerful left thigh. She felt a bit guilty about touching him so intimately as she was supposed to be resting, but she told herself it was the natural place to put her hand while in this position.

A moment or two later Gia could feel his erection against her bottom. Now she really did feel guilty. He was trying to help her stay warm, and now she had made him uncomfortable. He was trying to stay still but she was feeling restless so she turned over, no longer with her back to him but now laying against him, chest to chest. She could feel his heartbeat thundering.

Feeling playful Gia opened her eyes and murmured, "I don't feel much like sleeping at the moment."

At this he groaned, but he did not react how she expected at all. He made no move to kiss her or touch her. Erik only opened his extraordinary eyes and moved away from her so that they were looking at each other but not touching at all.

"Gia, I found your note," was all he said to her at first. His voice was so soft, just barely audible. He paused for a moment and continued, "I do not know what I could have done to ever deserve it."

There it was, finally out in the open. He knew how she felt about him. It was a relief, and yet it was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to her. While he had not rejected her out of hand, he had not said the words in return, nor had he given any indication that his feelings were more than friendly affection.

She reached across the expanse between them to caress his ravaged right cheek, and replied, "Everyone deserves to be loved, Erik. Even you. Though you may not believe it."

"How could you ever love me? I am a monster," he said as a tear formed at the corner of his eye. He closed his eye and it began to slide down his cheek until it reached her hand. As the moisture spread on her fingertips, she removed her hand and sucked her fingers where the tear had made contact with her skin.

"I would do that for all your tears, if you would let me. I imagine you have shed enough tears for many lifetimes. I would consume them for you so you might never feel them against your face again if you asked it of me." He could only stare as she took his face in both hands, cradling it gently. "I love you."

The words rolled easily off her tongue. It felt so natural and right to say it to him directly. But would he ever believe her? Would he ever truly let her inside his heart? But this was not about her or her emotions; she wanted to give him the consolation of knowing that there was at least one soul on this Earth that loved him unreservedly. She cherished all of his faults, for without them he would not be the man he was. And she loved that man for all his foibles and flaws.

Erik was at a complete loss for words. To hear her say those words, and look at her, to see her expression when she said them, he could no longer doubt their sincerity. He was loved. It seemed his impossible dream was merely an improbable one. In his bed lay a young, vital woman whose heart ached for him. A week ago he would have been thinking how he could use something like this to his advantage in order to manipulate her, but that was now unthinkable. She had too much loneliness and isolation in her life, a life that wastoo like his own for him to try to use her in that way. A deep sense of shame struck him as he recalled how he had used her for his own ends. He wanted to make it up to her in one of the few ways he knew how.

He turned his face into her palm and placed a hot open mouthed kiss at the center which caused her to slide her other hand deep into his hair and emit a deep rumble of contentment. Erik took her hand by the wrist and slid it down his bare chest until it came to rest at the apex of his thighs where his arousal had not abated. She needed no further encouragement to slip her hand under the waistband of his pants and take him into her hand.

At her careful measured stroking, Erik no longer merely wanted Gia, he needed her. His hands flew to her hips and her began drawing the red nightgown up so she would be naked against him. It got bunched around her waist and he could not resist taking her ass in his hands. The skin there was so soft, evidence that it had never been touched by the sun. He leaned in to kiss her, hoping it would still her hand, but even as their mouths sucked and tongues entwined, she did not stop.

Deciding to take control, he turned Gia onto her back, reached down and forcibly removed her hand. He held her down by the shoulders and said to her, "As much as I am enjoying what you are doing my dear, I need for you to stop doing that. I want this to last as long as possible. I want to remember making love to you Gia."

Tears of joy sprang to her eyes but before they could fall he was kissing them away as he ran his large magnificent hands over her body. They roamed in and out and around her curves, committing them to memory. His mouth claimed hers again, and instead of the usual frantic, hungry, possessive kisses there was a sweetness that was no less passionate and arousing. He was doing more than just trying to give her pleasure, he was actually giving himself to her for the first time, and that meant more to her than him telling her he loved her.

As he cupped her breasts through the thin fabric he could feel them respond to him, tightening, yearning for more stimulation. He gave it to them, sucking through the silk, and he could feel her hands digging into his shoulders encouraging him as she made the most beautiful noises he'd ever heard each time his tongue made contact with her swollen nipples.

"Oh yes Erik, right there!" she moaned. He ceased his actions only long enough to remove the nightgown, and then he took a moment to look at her. It was the same body he'd come to know intimately, and yet it looked somehow different to him. It was flushed with a fine sheen of sweat, or was it merely wet from his mouth, and he dipped his tongue into the valley between her breasts to find out.

It tasted salty, but it was unmistakably Gia with faint touches of lavender lingering on his tongue. Her hands were running up and down his back before she slipped her hands under the pants once again, mimicking his earlier actions. She then began to try to push the pants off completely, and he did his best to help her. When they were no longer within her reach, he drew them off, and came to rest on top of her.

He was rampant and insistent against her hip, but he was willing to prolong their foreplay. There was no hurry. He returned to putting his mouth to work on her neck, as his hands continued to play on her chest, but her voice suddenly interrupted him, "Erik, where are the French letters?" He stopped, and smiled at her, his ever practical Gia. He reached toward his bedside table and took one out, and was surprised when she took his hand in hers.

"I want to do it. I want to put in on you myself," she said, her voice full of determination. She struggled a moment, the damn thing was too small. She could not make Erik's fine French flesh fit into the French letter. Although she was now bright red with embarrassment, he behaved as though nothing was wrong, and whispered some instructions to her. With a bit of lubrication, it fit around him and unrolled easily as she pinched the tip to leave room for his release. She gave a sigh of relief once that was accomplished and he rewarded her with playful kisses all along her face and neck.

But the playfulness evaporated as he ran his right hand down her left hip, then brought it in between her thighs. He found her hot and wet, more than ready for him. He could tell she was on the verge of orgasm, and he wanted to be inside her when she came. She parted her thighs and rocked her hips in silent invitation. He responded by grinding against her and taking her right hand in his and bringing it down between them.

"Take me in your hand. Put me inside you," he urged her. She was somewhat shocked at his request, but he closed his hand around hers, and she guided him to her center even though her mind and body were screaming for him take her. There was something so intimate about him letting her take control at this point. She could feel him filling her as he sank into her depths, and once they were joined completely he took a moment just to savor the sensation before he nearly withdrew completely then plunged back down into her which sent Gia tumbling over the edge.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he continued to thrust, using one hand as leverage and the other between her legs for added stimulation. Gia was lost in a haze of sensation and she could not stop herself from coming yet again. It had never been like this before with him. Her confession had spurred him on and he was determined to show her just how much he needed and wanted her. He wanted this to be perfect.

She raked a hand along his back, and he sped up, his hips moving faster as he neared his own long awaited release. Their lips met again and against them he said, "Come again Gia, come with me. I want to look into your eyes when we come together. Please."

She forced herself to open her eyes, which had been shut. Her blue ones met his green ones that burned in a way she had never seen before. They were alive with more than lust. They seemed to silently cry with each deep thrust, "I love you." It was all too much for her to take, and her body exploded with a force she did not think was possible. She could not even be certain Erik had released until he fell against her, clearly spent, his mouth muttering something unintelligible against her shoulder.

They lay together like that, without speaking, just holding each other, and at times stroking the other person's skin. To Gia, this was home, lying in his arms. It did not matter where he was, that was where she wanted to be: at his side, giving him whatever he needed. She closed her eyes to savor the closeness, but felt him retreat so he could dispose of the French letter. He returned quickly and instead of spooning against him, she pushed him on his back so she could use him as a pillow by entwining her legs with his, and curling her body around his hip. Her head lay solidly against his shoulder. The added weight felt right and good. His hands came around her back, holding her close so she would know how much he wanted her there.

Gia fell asleep a moment later, but Erik found himself wide awake. This was actually for the best, he mused. He would have to wake her quite early if she was to make it to rehearsal on time. Although they had only coupled once, physically and emotionally it had been the most satisfying experience he had ever had with her. When they had come together that final time, he had whispered against her fevered flesh, "I love you, Gia," but she had been so mindless, she had not heard him. He was not certain he would be able to tell her that in the morning.

The fact he had been able to say a woman's name besides Christine coupled with those words was still something alien to him. He had been so certain that Christine had been what he wanted and needed, his soul mate and angel made flesh that he had never really ever considered loving another woman. And yet, he inextricably did. Gia had become like a part of him. It had happened slowly, but he knew losing her now would be just as painful as his parting with Christine even though his relationships with both women had been vastly different.

There was a permanence, a steadiness that there had never been with Christine. With her, there had been passion and obsession that had brought him to the edge of reason and pushed him spectacularly over the edge when he saw her response to another man. He wondered if his feelings for Gia would become twisted like that. It might be best for her if they broke things off before he would be unwilling to let her go. He did not want to feel that way about another woman again. Look at how he had reacted to her with that boy in the hallway!

He supposed he could marry her. If he proposed, she would undoubtedly accept him without reservation. But what kind of life could they ever possibly have together? He lived out of the world, and although she had tried to remove herself from it as well, she did not belong among the moldering stones beneath the Metropolitan. At the same time, he could not imagine himself as any kind of husband. What in God's name would he do with himself? And what of children? She would want them eventually and he did not want to risk another child bearing his curse. Marriage was out of the question, but he did not want to lose her either. Perhaps she would come to see him as a friend again with time.

There was still Christine to consider. Sooner or later he would have to make a decision on what to do about her. She would probably be coming to Paris to see the ballet, and he would get his chance to see her again. What would her reaction be to finding him in bed with another woman? He could not be certain what he would happen when he saw her again, and yet he knew he needed to see her in order to put things right between them. Her husband would be another problem. Christine had never been the best at hiding her emotions, and he seriously doubted anything had changed. The boy was not a complete fool and was likely to be suspicious. To say the situation was a delicate one was something of an understatement, he thought idly.

For now though, he would be content with Gia. He would find a way to make this work, somehow. There had to be a solution to this problem he had created. He forced those thoughts from his mind, and replaced them with the fresh memories of Gia. Restful sleep descended rapidly after that.


	31. 31

**A/N: First off, a big thank you to andersm who kindly pinch hit for my regular beta who is tied up with schoolwork at the moment. As always, enjoy, and don't forget to post me a review! They mean the world to me and keep me motivated to finish this even when I get frustrated and want to beat on my computer.**

* * *

Neither Erik or Gia had been particularly willing to get up early, but it was a necessity. Not much was said that morning, outside of some the groans that often accompany someone trying to shake drowsiness off. Once both were dressed, Erik in his usual garb and Gia in the red nightgown and robe, along with an extra blanket to use for warmth, they set out to return her to her room.

"How do you feel this morning? Not too cold I hope," he asked, wanting to say something because he found the silence almost unbearable.

"I feel fine, thank you, Erik," she replied politely. Sometimes he swore outside of his lair, she transformed into a different woman. She became a lady, one who was almost unapproachable, who used etiquette and manners as a means to protect herself. He much preferred her when she was relaxed. But then, the closer they came to the shore, the closer they came to returning her to her regular life where her posture of frigidity was something she was used to maintaining. It was like his mask in a way. Outside of his lair, except for a couple of occasions when he had been with her, he felt naked without it. He had to admit to himself that although her mother had a twisted sense of propriety, she had at least raised a woman with manners. Too many of the women who matured in opera houses had none to speak of.

Upon reaching the opposite bank, he recovered her old robe and handed it to her. She would not want to leave it down here, even if it was old and worn. He guided her through the opera house, holding her white hand within his leather clad one much of the time. As they reached the landing, and came to the point where he should bid her adieu for the day, he felt the urge to kiss her. Her lips looked so warm and inviting that he could not prevent himself from bringing his down to meet hers. The moment they touched she threw her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He kissed her like it was the last time he'd ever have the chance to do so, allowing his mouth and tongue to commit hers to memory. She did the same in turn, and for long minutes the two of them kissed like a pair of young lovers who were about to be forced apart by an overbearing and disapproving parent.

At last he ended the kiss, but although their lips no longer touched, Erik kept his forehead in contact with hers as he looked into her eyes. "I would like to see you this evening, if that is agreeable to you," he said keeping his voice low, his tone just skimming the edge of seduction.

"It is," she responded. "Will you meet me in my room or the practice room?"

For practical reasons, her room was a safer meeting place, there was far less chance of being seen, either him alone, or the two of them together. But Erik's impatience got the better of him and he chose the practice room because it meant he would see her all the sooner.

"I shall still have to go to my room after rehearsal, you know. Maybe I can take a few things with me if I am going to be spending all my evenings with you. Then I won't have to rush back here every morning."

It was a most practical suggestion, and he had anticipated it. Erik was wary about sharing his personal space with another, but for Gia, he was willing to make concessions in order to be with her as often as possible. "After we meet, we shall come here and I will help you with your things," he said gallantly.

"My knight in shining armor!" she exclaimed facetiously.

He gave a mock bow, bending deeply at the waist, and once he straightened up he focused completely on her face as her said softly, "I live to serve you, my lady." The mood no longer light and frivolous, Gia could feel the heat of arousal spreading outward from the pit of her stomach, but backed away from him knowing she needed to change if she was to be at rehearsal on time and prepared to work. The air had become heavy and heated. Her back ran into the entrance to her wardrobe, and he continued to advance on her. Just as she was about to open her mouth to remind him of where she needed to be in the next hour, he simply reached around her to undo the latch. He pushed the door open for her and offered his hand to help her through the opening. Before leaving, he placed a lingering kiss on the back of her hand.

"Until tonight then, Gia," he said as his lips hovered over her hand. A moment later he had let go of her hand and disappeared, leaving Gia feeling alone and bereft without him.

Gia had to rush to make it to the morning rehearsal on time, but skidded into the room with a few moments to spare. Both Meg and Madame Giry gave her knowing looks, as if they both knew how she and Erik had spent last night. Despite all the times they had been intimate, she could not help flushing slightly whenever her thoughts turned to him. He was such a sensual being it was hard to believe at times that she had been his first and only lover. If he was not so convinced of his hideousness he could have had scores of women. However, Gia liked to believe that Erik would not want to sleep with every woman who would find him attractive. He was more discerning than that. Then again, he was sleeping with her.

The clapping of Madame Giry's hands signaled the beginning of class, and after that Gia thought of Erik no longer until class had finished. Just after they were dismissed for lunch break, she noticed Georges Huget approach Madame Giry. They talked for a few moments, and Georges walked away with a huge grin on his face. Madame Giry must have given him leave to court Meg. Soon Meg would have a romance of her own and perhaps then she would be far less interested in the affairs of others.

Between classes Gia used the free time to have a quick bite to eat, and finding herself outside the opera house for the first time in a couple of days she decided to take the opportunity to pick up some much needed supplies at the nearby dance shop. Madame Giry's friend was there waiting on customers, but when she saw her, she gave Gia a smile, and excused herself so she could wait on Gia.

"Mademoiselle Burnside, this place has been positively buzzing with the news that you will be returning to the stage in _Giselle_! How can I help you this afternoon?" she inquired most cheerfully.

Gia explained that she needed three new pairs of stockings for rehearsals and probably four pairs of pointe slippers. While the slippers were readily available, the stockings were not since the shop did not often carry them in Gia's size. However, the proprietress agreed to have them delivered to the Metropolitan at no extra charge if Gia would pay for them now. The purchases obliterated the stipend that Monsieur Dupoix had distributed that morning. She would need to careful with the toe shoes, she would not be able to afford any more and these would have to last her for the next three weeks. As she gathered up her purchases, she noticed that the shopkeeper had thrown in a box of lamb's wool free of charge.

Once back in her room, Gia began to gather a few things together to bring to Erik's home. She took out a box of hair pins, two nightgowns, a pair of old slippers, and laid them out on her bed. Since she might also need regular clothes, she added one dress, several sets of underclothes, and the corset he had purchased for her since he had disposed of her other one. She would also need to bring ballet slippers and her rehearsal outfit. Gia also went to her bookcase and took out some books she thought both of them would enjoy. Surely they could not make love all the time! She looked at the growing pile in dismay and frowned. How would they ever bring all of this down without someone noticing it? My God, it looked like she was moving in with him!

Remembering the time, she left everything on the bed in order to be at the afternoon rehearsal on time. She was the last principal to arrive, and received a disapproving glance from Madame Giry for it. Mercifully Jean Paul scaled back his pursuit of her, and Gia could have almost called the practice an enjoyable one. The ballet was progressing well, and she was performing adequately. The highlight of today had been watching Meg and Georges as they danced the final pas de deux between Giselle and Albrecht. Georges did an excellent job of looking heartbroken as Meg made her exit at the end of the dance. A few of the other dancers had even applauded. The two of them would be a sight to behold once they began working with the full orchestra on Monday.

Beginning that day, Gia would be on display for the entire opera company to observe. Erik would be sure to be watching as well. The thought made tight knots in her stomach. She should thank her lucky stars she was only in the second act of the ballet. On the days that Madame Giry would concentrate on the first act she would have the entire day to herself. It would be fascinating to spend an entire day with Erik just to see how he lived. For heaven's sake, she had no idea how he even managed to procure food! He must leave the Metropolitan on occasion, and she would love to know where he went and for what. Mentally, she shook herself. She was starting to sound like a besotted girl with her first gentleman. She knew better than that!

Once practice had ended, she approached Madame Giry, telling her she wished to practice on her own for a few minutes, and that she would be sure to extinguish the lamps before she left. The ballet mistress merely nodded, but her smirking expression indicated she did not think Gia would be doing much practicing. She put out all but two of the lamps, and since Erik had not arrived, she took the time to work on a complicated series of turns that she had been struggling with. Not surprisingly, she found it easier to concentrate when she was alone and without distractions like Jean Paul or Adrienne.

She was about to run through the sequence a fourth time when she heard a noise in the hall. He was all seductive elegance in his black cape with the black silk and cloth of gold lining and velvet collar. Garbed almost entirely in black with only the white of his shirt for contrast, he nearly disappeared among the shadows, only the white of his mask giving him away. She stood in stark relief in her grayish dance costume, her skin taking on a golden tone from the low lamplight. He said nothing by way of greeting, only that she should continue and he apologized for interrupting her.

"There's no need to apologize Erik. I was just making use of the time. We can go," she replied easily.

"What if I said I wanted to watch you dance for a little while? Would you oblige me?" he asked as he took a position at the front of the large room.

"I'm willing to dance for you, but I cannot promise I will be very good. It has been a long day, and I tend to get nervous when I know people are watching," she confessed truthfully. She did not want to disappoint him as he seemed to be so confident in her abilities.

"I will not pass judgment on you. It is early in rehearsals to be expecting perfection. I just want the pleasure of being the only person in your audience on this one occasion. Dance for me, Gia."

She could not refuse such a request, so she began to dance the sequence where Myrta leads Hilarion to his death. They had not worked out all the details as yet, but she could improvise a bit. She threw herself into the final turns, and found herself spinning out of control toward one of the bars. To stop herself from crashing, she reached out and grabbed the bar, stopping dead. Coming off her toes, she turned to him and said, "As you can see, it needs work."

"The only problem I can see is that you need to keep in mind who you are portraying, Gia. Myrta is a queen of spirits and ghosts, she has been for ages. She is not young and passionate like Giselle. She is only doing her duty. Hilarion is only one of hundreds of lives she has taken." It was good advice. If she approached the role more distantly, focusing more on the character than the steps, perhaps she would have more success. He found it easy to slip into the role of instructor with her. He only hoped she would not resent him for giving his honest opinion.

"Thank you. I shall do my best to take your advice," she answered as she gathered up her few things. Erik took them from her as she put out the remaining lit lamps. He could not be certain if she was angry with him. She had not answered sarcastically, but he thought there had been some trace of annoyance in her voice. Having exited the room, they said nothing as they moved into the depths of the corridors, making their way up to her room.

Less than twelve hours before they had stood here necking, but that seemed the farthest thing from her mind as they entered through the wardrobe into her room. On her bed was the most extraordinary collection of items: everything from clothes to books had been piled there. It would take multiple trips to bring it all to his lair which was something he had not anticipated.

"It would seem that the stories I have heard of women being unable to travel lightly are true," he quipped, and she glared at him.

"These are the essentials if I am going to be spending all my evenings with you," she replied firmly.

"Surely, you don't think you're going to need ALL of these things," he said, holding up several items to prove his point. "The books can stay here, along with most of the clothes. You know there is little use for them when we are together," he said softly, his voice like a hot caress.

Gia blushed prettily, and it never failed to amuse him. She was still very much ashamed of what they did together. No, shame wasn't the right word. It was guilt. That damn religion of hers had taught her what they were doing was wrong, and that she wasn't even supposed to enjoy his attentions. He wondered if she had gone to confession yet to seek absolution for her supposed mortal sins. While she looked under the bed for a small traveling case, he noticed that there was an envelope that had been shoved under her door. Curious as to who would be writing to her, he snatched it up, and his heart stopped when he saw the seal. It was Christine's.

For a moment he considered opening the letter and reading it, doing as she had done to him. Instead he called to her, and held the letter away from himself, anxious for her to take it from him. "Gia, you have a letter. I believe it is from the Viscomtess de Chagny."

After crawling up from the floor, she took the letter from him, eyeing him carefully, and sat down on her bed. She opened it gingerly, fearing what the letter might actually say. Christine's note was brief, and most carefully worded:

_Mademoiselle Burnside,_

_From recent events, I have come to learn that the man known as the Phantom of the Opera still lives. I have reason to believe that he may be responsible for casting you in the Metropolitan's newest production. He has done similar things in the past. I do not know if you have made his acquaintance, but I must urge you to be wary of him. He is a most dangerous man. I would not want you to come to harm because of him._

_Sincerely,_

_Christine de Chagny_

Having read the letter a few times, she stood and handed the letter to Erik to read. There was nothing there he did not have a right to see. He should know that Christine had come to the conclusion on her own that Erik had meddled in the casting of _Giselle_ to benefit her before she could have learned that they were lovers from Meg Giry. But from the letter it was clear she did not know the extent of their involvement. He read the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

"What are you doing with my letter?" Gia asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"I thought it would be best if it came with us. It will be safer to dispose of it in my stove than for you to toss it in the garbage. Someone might read it," he replied practically.

"You might have said that before you appropriated it for yourself," she snapped angrily, her temper flaring. The very thought of the former chorus girl made her emotions run high. She had to suppress the urge to strike out at him or possibly hurl her copy of Shakespeare's unabridged works at him.

Erik lost what little patience he had and found himself asking, "Why are you so damned jealous of Christine?"

At this Gia rolled her eyes and her chest began to shake with barely contained hysterical laughter. "Why? Why you ask me? Because I love you, you fool! Because I cannot stand the fact I shall always be second in your affections to her! I will never mean as much to you as she does, and for that I resent and despise her. She broke your heart and you cannot stop loving her. I cannot hold a candle to her beauty and talent, but I am here, and she is not. I love you and she does not. And I know that I will never be enough for you."

Having said her peace, she closed her eyes, grateful to have gotten her feelings about Christine off her chest and into the open. When she opened them, Gia fully expected to find him leaving her again, but instead he stood directly in front of her. He placed his left hand on her shoulder and used his right to tip her head up slightly so she was looking at him directly in the eyes.

"Gia, I love you."

She could feel the tears coming on, and she said to him quietly, "You do not have to lie to me Erik. I have accepted my role in your life."

He had to make her understand. He took his right hand away and brought it to his mask. He took it off carefully and tossed it onto her bed.

"Look at me," he implored her, and she brought her gaze up to meet his. "I love you. I said it last night, but I do not think you heard me. Hear me now."

His eyes, those marvelous eyes that truly were a mirror to his soul had turned an almost forest green color. He did not lie. Was it possible that he loved the both of them? In a burst of feeling, she kissed him and for the first time, that kiss seemed to hold the promise of a future together.

No further words were necessary. Gia would never be sure who had first began the process of undressing each other, or even how they cleared off the bed, but somehow it must have happened because that night they made love to each other in her small bed, somehow ignoring the squeaking and groaning springs in the ancient mattress. All night they whispered delicate words of love to each other, and they seemed for those hours to be one. When they sighed each other's names it was almost a supplication, a plea to exorcize the demons of their pasts. It seemed their prayers were answered for the specter of Christine was banished momentarily and there was only Erik and Gia.

The questions would come in the morning.


	32. 32

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and encouragement that you all have been sending my way. I apologize for not getting this done sooner, but unfortunately I was busy this weekend and I had a few days where my muse was not being especially cooperative. Once again, a great big hug to my back up beta andersm. Enjoy and don't forget to review!**

* * *

Due to the modest size of Gia's bed, she and Erik had the not unpleasant task of holding each other close throughout the night so neither would end up on the floor during the night. They woke in the morning, their bodies entangled to the point where it was difficult to see where one began and the other ended. One white sheet was curled around their waists, but both seemed unconcerned with modesty. Still basking in the afterglow of the knowledge that love was reciprocated, neither was anxious to let reality intrude. But the morning light signaled it was time to rise and meet the day, and as Gia began to try to extricate herself from Erik, he pulled her close to prevent her from escaping.

"It is still early. You don't have to get up just yet. Stay with me for awhile," he purred sleepily.

Although she really should get up, Gia far preferred his warm body to the cold air swirling around the room, so she snuggled into his chest, enjoying the feel of the hair there against her skin. She ran her fingers though it, and emitted a low hum of contentment.

"If you keep doing that, I am going to keep you in this bed all day, and I won't feel the least bit guilty about it," he said, suddenly awake from the light but arousing touch of her hands.

"You would not do that. I cannot miss rehearsal," she replied.

In response he quickly turned her onto her back, pinned her arms at the wrists against the bed, and rotated his pelvis against hers. "Can you be so sure I won't take you now?"

Gia closed her eyes, and already she could feel her desire for him growing. The temptation was great to move against him to indicate her willingness to enjoy his loving this morning. Using the strength in her legs, she scrambled out from beneath him and leaned up against the headboard. From there she got her first real look at what they had done to her room in their initial rush last night. It was a complete shambles.

"Oh my goodness Erik, look at what we did!" she cried, and he looked around to take in the scene. Clothes, both his and hers lay in the last position where they had been thrown or pushed aside. Books lay scattered across the floor. He could not even see his mask. It was most likely under a heap of clothing somewhere. Gia was already getting out the bed, and rooting through her things. She came upon the red robe, and slipped it on before she resumed searching for the items she would need for rehearsal.

With the bed to himself, Erik sat up, bending his knees slightly as he watched her try to put the room to rights as quickly as possible. He was not surprised to see her put the books back on the shelf before she put anything into the wardrobe. The volumes safely returned, she went through each article of clothing meticulously, and placing each item at the end of the bed into different piles. Each time she leaned forward, he got a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts, soft and pale against the red silk of the robe. And beneath them lay a heart that beat for him.

Once she put away everything except her dance clothes, she turned to the remaining items on the floor, all of which belonged to him. Her first thought was to do as she done with her clothes, but instead she teased him, "Erik, do you treat me like a wife already? Letting me pick up the things you leave haphazardly about instead of seeing to them yourself?"

But spying his mask, she bent down and grabbed it and handed it to him, knowing he was uncomfortable without it. He took it from her, but he did not put it on right away, instead he put it on her bedside table. Erik gracefully slid out of the bed and stretched, giving Gia time to openly leer at his body. He quite possibly had the best pair of legs she had ever seen on a man. Long and powerful and not muscle bound in the least, they were a beautiful sight. Suddenly the image of him in a skirt popped into her head, and she giggled. He must have heard her, because he shot her a quizzical look, which she returned a look that said, "Who me?" At this he chuckled, and Gia tossed his trousers at him. With these in hand, he picked up his remaining clothing items and went behind her screen to change and give her privacy.

As he dressed he could hear her singing quietly to herself as she arranged her hair and tugged on her stockings. When he emerged from behind the barrier, she was completely dressed, and was making her bed. It was so domestic, and Gia would have looked the very picture of a proper French housewife had she not been wearing a tulle ballet skirt. He smoothed the lapels of his tailcoat as best he could, and he felt Christine's letter in the inner pocket. As much as he hated to bring her up to Gia, he felt he should ask her how she planned to respond to the note.

"Gia, are you going to write back to Christine?" he inquired.

She ceased smoothing the creases in the sheets, and stood up straight to look at him directly. She replied honestly to him, "I do not know what I would say to her if I did. I am uncomfortable with being less than truthful but I am not comfortable in proclaiming to her that I am your lover. If it made her angry, she could inform her husband, and it would put you at risk. Aside from that, it is not her business. I suppose I could simply tell her I am your new contact in the opera house because I know this place better than Madame Giry." She finished with a shrug, and he could tell Gia no more wanted to write to Christine than she wanted to make an announcement to the opera company that she had taken a lover.

"If you do not want to write to her, I will not force you to do so," was all he said, and he would have been content to leave the conversation at that, but Gia asked him, "Erik do you still love Christine?"

She was looking at him plaintively, hoping that he would answer with an emphatic no. "I still care for her," was his answer to her.

"If she comes to Paris are you going to leave me for her?"

To reassure her, her took her hands in his and gripped them tight as he said, "I do not see her in the same way I did two years ago. Then I would have done anything to make her mine. I nearly did in fact. I was obsessed with her. I believed it was the only way I would ever find love. I thought love was something that could be compelled, and at the last moment I realized it could not be, and it destroyed me for a time. My feelings are not the same, but I want to see her again, if only to say goodbye to her. Can you understand that?"

In truth Gia could not fully understand Erik's feelings for Christine, but she did know they had a long history between them. She would not let her jealousy of Christine tear them apart. "Erik, if Christine does agree to meet with you when she comes to Paris, I would like to be there," she stated.

"Do you not trust me with her?" he asked, surprised she would make such a request.

"It's not that I don't trust you at all. I was just thinking that she might be more likely to believe that you are no longer interested in her if I am there."

He smirked and arched his left eyebrow at this remark and said, "And you aren't the slightest bit interested in lording it over her that you have captured my heart?"

Erik was as perceptive as ever. "That too," Gia admitted. She wanted to show Christine that they were in love and that Erik had no need to steal a woman in order find happiness. She was his willingly, and would be as long as he would have her. Her great fear was that seeing Christine again would only serve to bring back unpleasant memories and upset him, but if he was certain it would allow him to slam the door shut on his troubled past, she would be as supportive as possible.

"Will you write her, or should I?" she asked him. She was curious to know how he planned to coax her into agreeing to meet with him. As long as Erik did not threaten Christine, her husband, or her child, she would be willing to assist him.

Erik considered for a moment what the best course of action would be. "I cannot be certain she is going to come to Paris at all, Gia. She may prefer to stay in the country with her family even if it means missing such an important performance for Meg. Once we know for certain she is coming, I will write to her again." It was still awkward discussing Christine with someone, but he supposed that would diminish with time, and eventually it would bother neither of them. He knew he would never forget Christine, nor did he want to. She was an integral part of his life, and someone he could not simply push aside because it would be easier to pretend she had never existed. He fervently wished that Gia could accept that, and forgive him for it. He was not even sure he had forgiven himself for what he had done.

Realizing that it would be time for Gia to be heading for practice, he gave her a quick kiss, and headed for the wardrobe promising that he would meet her in her room this evening. As he opened the door to the wardrobe, he felt her hand on his shoulder, and he turned to face her.

"You forgot this," she said with a smile. Clutched between Gia's fingers lay his white half-mask that he had left on her bedside table. For the first time that he could remember, he had forgotten to put it on. Before he put it on they kissed once more, this time wrapping their arms around each others waists, as their mouths bid each other goodbye without actually saying the words.

Once the mask was on, Erik felt different. He actually felt uncomfortable wearing it in front of her. That thought occupied his mind for most of the trip down through the cellars to his home.

* * *

It proved to be another busy day at the Metropolitan, and now that Gia was becoming used to the routine, the morning rehearsal went by rather quickly. In five days time she had gone from making a fool of herself to performing as well as the other members of the corps de ballet. Her biggest problem was nerves. She found it impossible to relax, especially when she could hear Adrienne Leveau making snide comments under her breath about how stupid it looked for someone of Gia's height and size to be playing a ghost.

"For Christ's sake, if she was any bigger, no one would notice the rest of us!" she had whispered to a group of dancers who had all tittered at the remark. When Madame Giry overheard the disturbance in the corner she had shot them all a menacing look, then informed them to stay after rehearsal. Meg insisted on taking her out for lunch while her mother dealt with Adrienne and her friends, and she prattled on about Georges and how sweet he was to her.

"You know Gia, I thought perhaps he liked you because one day in rehearsal he was staring at you, but he told me it was because of you he got up the courage to speak to Maman. He said you were most supportive of him courting me. What can you tell me about him?" she asked eagerly.

"Meg, I think it is best if Georges tell you about himself since the only things I know about him come from rumors I have heard around the opera house. However, from my observations since he has been here, I can say he has always been a hard worker and kind to his colleagues. As far as I know, he's never been seriously romantically involved with anyone, and you know how difficult it is to keep information like that under wraps in this place. Let me say this to you Meg, listen your heart. It will not steer you wrong," she concluded and then took a long sip of tea. It was odd giving relationship advice to Meg considering she had so little experience with them.

The young ballerina was smitten by her suitor but she seemed to be under the impression that something must be wrong because she was not in love with him yet. Gia counseled her that she might never fall in love with Georges even though he was a perfectly agreeable gentleman. Love takes time, and is rarely instantaneous.

"But you love Erik!" Meg had pointed out rather loudly, and several heads turned to look at their table. Gia was embarrassed but relieved that as far as she could tell none of them worked at the Metropolitan. Once they returned to focusing on their luncheons, Gia explained that she did not fall in love with Erik right away. Initially he had annoyed her and they fought a great deal. She had despised his arrogant, masterful nature, and only wished that he would eventually leave her alone. Even she was not sure precisely when she fell in love with him, but at some point the thought of being without him became painful. Gia even confided in Meg that despite his assurances, she believed he would throw her over for Christine if he had the opportunity to do so.

"That reminds me! Yesterday we received a letter from her and another from Raoul. They will be here for the opening gala of _Giselle_. She mentioned that she was planning to write to you to invite you to supper with us afterward. Have you heard from her?"

"I did get a note from her, but it was a warning for me to be careful of Erik. It seems she deduced that he might be behind the casting of the ballet and was concerned for my safety. She did not extend to me a dinner invitation. I suppose that is for the best. It would be tremendously awkward for me, even more so than before. I know she is your friend Meg, and she seems a sweet girl, but I cannot help disliking her," she said as finished her tea.

"You're jealous of her!" Meg exclaimed, and Gia did not bother to contradict her. As Meg settled up the bill, she shared, "I used to be so jealous of her as well. Here she was, an orphan, a nobody, and then all of a sudden she is singing the lead in _Hannibal_, and the rich new patron is panting after her. He falls in love with her, they have this secret engagement, and then the Phantom shows up at the masked ball having created an opera for her. Nothing like that ever happens to me!" she pouted.

Gia did her best to assure Meg that it was probably not as romantic as all that. Christine would tell her so if she was here. As they walked back arm in arm past St.Etienne's, Gia recalled that she had not attended Mass recently, nor had she made her confession. She had been committing the mortal sin of fornication on a regular basis, and to cleanse her mortal soul she would have to reveal it to Father Lessard. But Gia could not feel guilty about what she had done with Erik. It would be a far greater sin to seek absolution for something that her heart told her was not a sin. It might have been to begin with, but no longer. Still, she had been neglecting a religious obligation. She promised herself that on Sunday she would go to Mass.

But how could she attend Mass knowing that she had committed grave sins? Tomorrow afternoon she might be able to manage sneaking out so she could have a talk with Father Lessard outside the confessional. She could imagine what his advice would be, but perhaps he would reassure her that by reaching out to such a lost soul was enough to make up for the evil that she had done. However, she had to admit to herself, her motives had certainly been less than pure. The pleasure had been an end unto itself, and reaching that peak had been her only goal.

Meg and Gia parted ways at the opera house, but they reunited in time for the afternoon rehearsal. Since they had gone well this week, Madame Giry informed them that tomorrow she would cancel the practice for the principal dancers. There would be no excuse for Gia not to go to St. Etienne's tomorrow.

During the practice Gia did her best to keep Erik's advice in mind as she performed the most difficult part of her solo. Her body knew what to do, she simply had to let it happen and not force it. She thought about who Myrta was, and how the ballet would appear through her eyes. For the few moments of her solo, she would be the focus of the audience, and it was her opportunity to show the character's point of view. It was all going quite well until Gia pictured a full house of the Metropolitan looking only at her, and then she faltered slightly. Damn her and her nervousness! If she was being asked to sing she would not make such a mistake.

Once the rehearsal had ended, she asked Madame Giry for her advice on what to do about her problem. The ballet mistress gave her typical enigmatic response. "I cannot say what will work for you my dear. I only can tell you what has helped others. Some like to imagine the audience in only their under things, others simply pretend they are not there at all. For me, I took solace in the fact that I had prepared myself as adequately as possible and that if I was true to my training, all would be well. It would seem to me your nerves are the result of lack of confidence in yourself. Once you believe you can do it, you will."

With that she left with her daughter, and Gia was not about to linger in the hallways, knowing that Erik would be waiting for her. She found him sitting in her chair with a large satchel that she had never seen before.

"I brought this so I could help you with your things. After all, last night we never did go to my home." As he spoke, he stood up and handed it to her. She put into it the barest of necessities: a brush, her hairpins, both types of ballet slippers, a wrap, and a nightgown.

"Is that sufficiently light enough packing for you Erik?" she quipped, and he reacted by crushing her to him and fiercely attacking her lips with his mouth.

"God, I have missed you! I look forward to Monday when I shall be able to watch you rehearse all day from the confines of a comfortable opera box. To know I've felt that exquisite body move beneath me in time with mine to music of our own making shall have to sustain me when I cannot touch you," he breathed heavily into her ear, his voice deep with want. The tone was enough to conjure intimate images of them and cause her to shudder against him. Erik felt the vibrations travel down from his mouth all the way to the tips of his toes. If they lingered like this much longer he'd have her up against the wardrobe, and after last night he could not afford to be so careless.

They said little to each other in the hallways of the opera house as both were always wary of someone hearing them. Footsteps would be ignored by most people, but voices would not be. Once they entered the cellars Gia revealed that there would be no afternoon rehearsal tomorrow. Pleased, Erik offered to meet her after the morning practice, but Gia that wasn't necessary.

"I have an important errand to run, but once that is complete we can spend the rest of the day together. Whatever shall we do?" she said in a mock questioning manner with her index finger curled around her chin. She was not about to mention going to St. Etienne's to him. He would not understand.

"I'm sure I can come up with something," he said languorously, but he was intensely curious about what sort of errand Gia would be running. He had noticed the extra pairs of toe shoes from the last time he was in her room, so she could not be going to the dance shop. He was well aware she did not have much money and she was not about to waste funds on something unnecessary. Her one weakness was books. That had to be it! But a trip to the bookstore was hardly what he would consider an important errand. He made up his mind that he would follow her to see what she was up to. He wanted to get her a gift anyway, and mayhap her eyes would indicate to him something she wanted but could not afford.

"You know, Erik, we cannot spend the entire weekend abed," she scolded him. "I shall have to do some practicing on my own. Madame Giry says practice may help me gain the confidence I need to overcome my butterflies."

"You should listen to her, Antoinette knows of what she speaks. She used to be quite the bundle of nerves before major performances. She cast up her accounts on more than one occasion," he recalled. "It wasn't until she fell in love with Richard Giry that stopped. He seemed to settle her."

Gia had a hard time picturing the stern ballet mistress as anything less than perfectly composed. The mental picture he had created of Madame Giry becoming violently ill before a performance caused her to let out a loud guffaw that echoed through the vaulted ceilings. He found his voice joining hers in carefree laughter. For much of his adult life, Erik had associated love only with pain, but after tonight he would remember that love could also bring laughter.

Minutes later the sounds of laughter faded into passionate sighs of desire. Those dissolved into sharp cries of pleasure and the quiet whispers of satisfaction. In the silence of his bedroom, Gia and Erik both lay collapsed, completely physically drained. The only thing that could possibly destroy their love was each other.


	33. 33

**A/N: I am actually posting this chapter from a hotel room, without having had anyone check it over because I feel bad about not getting this up sooner. Also, in honor of my first really negative review, I thought I'd clarify something to anyone who may be reading. I am basing my story on Andrew Lloyd's Webber's vision of the Phantom as shown in the musical. My Erik both physically resembles Gerard Butler and his feelings and emotions are in tune with his performance. I have read neither Susan Kay or the original Leroux, and if anyone expected my writing to adhere to their visions they are bound to be disappointed. Take from that what you will. I hope the rest of you will enjoy this chapter and let me know what you thought of it. **

* * *

The day was passing far too slowly for Erik. It was only just noon, but the hours had dragged by ever since he had brought Gia to her morning practice. He had thought to spend the morning productively working on his latest composition, but nothing he wrote satisfied him. In frustration he found himself returning to the familiar melodies from _Don Juan Triumphant_. But instead of playing the song he had sung with Christine, he played the love theme that had never been performed before the public. He would love to hear Gia sing it, although he would have to transpose some of the notes to fit her vocal range. Strange, in all the time they had spent together he had never had her sing for him. Christine's innocent voice had drawn him in, and yet that had not been a consideration in Gia's case. He had simply wanted her almost from the moment he saw her.

She was no great beauty. Tall women were simply unfashionable, but he had found he liked being able to look a woman in the eye and not have to stoop to do it. It was a shame society declared women who reached their mid-twenties without being married as being on the shelf or old maids. She was just approaching the summit of her attractiveness. Her face was mature but still unlined, and her unusual blue eyes were large and expressive. He could always tell what she was thinking when he looked into them. Her body was so lush with its natural curves that were only enhanced in the proper clothing. Although, he actually hadn't seen her in regular clothing in quite some time, now that he thought on it.

He grimaced at the thought that this afternoon she would be wearing one of those dreadful black gowns. He had half a mind to get rid of all of them and purchase her a new wardrobe, one that would show her off to her best advantage. But she would resent a gesture like that. She would want to be consulted first. That was something he should mention to her this weekend. If they could reach an accord he would place an order for a new gown for her with Madame Collette so it might be ready for the gala.

The rehearsal would have concluded by now, and he had given Gia enough time to change. He waited for her to exit the building and followed her, keeping enough distance so that she might not notice him. She was walking briskly, wherever she was headed, she seemed to want to get there as rapidly as possible, as though the errand was something that she wanted to have over with sooner rather than later. He smiled to himself when he noted that she made the turn toward the local bookshop, but that quickly became a frown as she strode past it purposefully. She was moving closer to the edifice that dominated the small square, St. Etienne's.

The old gray stone church was built in the Romanesque style, and was thus relatively stark from the outside, with none of the Gothic or Baroque flourishes of Paris's great cathedrals. The stained glass windows were on the small side, but were alive with color. Gia was taking the stairs nearly two at a time, and Erik found himself frozen with indecision. He had not darkened the doorway of a church since he had been a small child. Part of him feared the place might collapse around him if he dared show his face in one. Bah! It was all superstitious foolishness!

There was only one reason why Gia would come here on a Saturday in the early afternoon: confession. She was here to unburden herself of the sin of taking pleasure in another person's body. Was she that ashamed of him? She had always said otherwise, but the fact she was here had to mean something. But he would not leap to conclusions, as he had been so quick to do that in the pastand it had only brought him grief. He would simply observe and listen.

Erik was well muffled and his face was hidden from view. Anyone who happened to see him would just think he was here for the same reason as Gia. He watched her intently as she entered the church and dipped her index finger into the small font of holy water and blessed herself. She then made her way over toward what he assumed had to be the confessionals. There were already several people waiting, and he recognized a few of them from the Metropolitan. He took a seat in one of the pews several rows behind where Gia was kneeling and knelt down mimicing the parishioners. The black beads of her rosary were slipping through her fingers in a steady stream. When it came to Gia's turn to enter the box, she turned to the woman next to her and bade her go ahead of her. She did that twice more, and then it became evident that while Gia had come to pray, she was not here to seek absolution.

Within a half hour there was no one left waiting, and the figure of a gray old man emerged from the confessional. Erik quickly and silently lay down on the bench, concealing himself from view. The priest must have spotted Gia and Erik heard him apologize for interrupting her prayers. "I am sorry, my child! Would you like me to hear your confession now? There is no one here except the two of us," he said in a kind and gentle voice.

At the sound of Father Lessard's voice, Gia raised her head, and he recognized her almost instantly. "Mademoiselle Burnside! I have not seen you in quite some time. You have not been lately at Mass," he scolded her mildly. "But even I have heard that you shall be playing a large role in the next production at the Metropolitan. And in a ballet no less! I was even thinking of indulging myself a bit and procuring a ticket." The old priest stopped chattering away as he looked at Gia's solemn expression. There was something on her mind, something she wanted to say to him. What could it be though that she would not want to formally confess it?

"Father Lessard, I am in love," she said quietly, and she looked down unable to meet his eyes.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of my child! It's long past time you fell in love. God wants us all to be happy. I have often prayed that you would find someone," he said as he sat down in the pew next to her. "But there must be problems if you are seeking counsel from me."

"Father, my relationship with the man I love is complicated. I love him and he tells me he loves me. I know he is not lying about that, but I am not his first love. She left him years ago and broke his heart, and now she will be returning to Paris. I fear he will leave me for her. He says he will not, that she is in the past, but I cannot help thinking when he sees her, he will want to possess her. She is beautiful and I am not. I should be content with all his has given me but I do not think I can bear to lose him. Not to her," she sighed meaningfully.

"It seems you do not trust him. That is never a good thing."

"Not when it comes to her. In the past he did some disturbing things to try to win her. He was unsuccessful, or rather he changed his mind at the last moment once he had her. She was an obsession with him, his muse, I cannot live up to that."

The priest looked at Gia and he wanted to tell her that this man would have to be a fool to abandon her for someone who had once rejected him. However he doubted that would ease her troubled mind. It was best if he stayed quiet and let her do the talking. Eventually she would reveal something that he could give her some advice about.

Gia faced the priest and focused on his eyes which were filled with understanding. "Father, I did not want to make my confession because I do not feel I can do it in good conscience. I have been intimate with this man many times, and I do not feel any guilt or shame about it. Fornication is a grave sin, but when I am with him I forget all the rules that the Church and society have laid down. When he holds me, when we fall asleep together I feel safe, loved, and cherished. How can that be evil?" she asked him honestly.

Lessard was at something of a loss to respond to her. He had been in the religious life since he was a young man and he had never been with a woman. Some priests kept mistresses, and still others dallied with each other, but he had taken his vows seriously and remained celibate. He had known Gia since she was a child and he knew her heart was a good one. Theologically, it was easy to tell her that she was a sinner, and that she must repent in order to protect her immortal soul, but what she said made sense. This man made her whole, he fulfilled her, and yet they were supposed to remain chaste until marriage. For a grown man and woman, it was patently ridiculous, but doctrine was doctrine.

"Gia, the sin is not the feeling of closeness you have with this man. The sin is that you are engaging in something that God created for procreation within the strict confines of a marriage. That you feel pleasure is good. I am sure God intended it to be that way. But you really should consider having your union formalized. I would be willing to marry you both. It would be simple enough to do," he advised her.

"I do not foresee us ever being married, least of all by a priest. He has his reasons, and they are excellent ones, for being angry with God. I doubt if he's been anywhere near a church in thirty years. Besides, Father, he and I will never have children. I have my career, and for personal reasons I do not think he will ever want to have children," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. The thought of cradling a child with Erik's eyes brought tears to her eyes. She forced herself to blink them back.

"You cannot prevent children indefinitely, my dear. I know there things people use to try to prevent it, but they are not always effective. What will you do then?"

"I do not know. I will only worry about it if it happens." She would know in a few days anyway. Her cycles had been regular ever since she had stopped dancing professionally. Unconsciously, one hand slipped around her abdomen as if to protect it. The rosary beads brushed against the wooden pew, and the sound reverberated, startling her.

"My child, I can only advise you to be careful. I hope that you and your gentleman change your minds. Do not hesitate to seek me out if you need any help." On that note, Father Lessard made the sign of the cross over Gia and silently asked God to forgive her and this man. He asked Him to bestow some of His Grace on them and protect them. From the little Gia had chosen to confide in him, he surmised that the road ahead for them would not be an easy one.

Gia watched as Father Lessard waddled out of the church to presumably retire to his home. He would no doubt enjoy a nice hot meal and then spend the rest of the day working on his homily for tomorrow. One of the younger priests would preside over the afternoon Mass. Once he had left, she took a few moments to enjoy the silence of the building, and drink in the beauty of the stained glass. She crossed herself once more, and slipped out of the pew. She had taken no more than a few steps toward the side door when she felt someone grab her from behind.

* * *

Erik lay in the pew listening intently to the conversation that Gia and the priest were having. He had been so sure she was coming here because she felt shame, but instead she was here because of her lack of it. Her greater concern was what his reaction to seeing Christine would be. He had promised her he would not leave her, but she knew he might not be able to live up to that promise. He did not know if he would be able to.

If he analyzed the situation rationally, the fact was Christine had not been good for him. She had been a great inspiration, but it had all been born of obsession. The opera he had written for the two of them was a monument to it. But what good had come of him knowing her? It had brought them both great pain and confusion. He had deliberately aroused her, hoping that she would confuse love and lust and allow him to take her. If had not shown her that damn doll he had created, she might have been his that first night. He had never forgotten that.

It had been the turning point in their relationship. Christine had enjoyed his caresses, and responded to them ardently. When his hands had skimmed along her corset over her waist and hips, he had felt the heat there. She had been primed for him, and he had thought that night he would finally cast of the burden of his prolonged virginity. But then when he revealed his ultimate intentions for her by showing her the wedding gown he had lovingly commissioned for her, she had fainted dead away. When he had laid her against the crimson velvet coverlet, he had briefly considered unleashing his lust on her, but his desire for an eager, willing participant had won out. And after the events of the next morning, it was impossible to return to those moments where everything he wanted had been within his grasp.

Had fate taken a hand in that night? Had some larger force known that Christine was not the woman he belonged with and prevented their union in order to save him for Gia? Erik had never been one to believe in such things. He had taken his destiny in his hands from the moment he had strangled his gypsy keeper.

Lying back he looked as his hands. They had brought death to many. They were responsible for creating his music. And now they gave pleasure to someone other than himself. What a change Gia had wrought in him! As he listened to her bristle at the notion of marrying him, he flashed back to the dream he had a few days ago. The hand he had taken had grasped his firmly, with no hesitation. It had to have been her. Christine's grip would have never been that sure.

He heard the shuffling footsteps of the priest as he left followed by the soft click of Gia's boot heels on the marble flooring. Erik slid out of the bench noiselessly and approached her from behind. He was close enough to reach out and touch her. Dare he do it in the house of God? He hooked a leather clad hand into her elbow, and she turned to face him, surprise etched on her face. Her lips were parted slightly, and he could see she was searching for the appropriate response to his intrusion, but stymied by the knowledge she was within the walls of a church.

"Is nothing sacred to you, Erik that you would eavesdrop on me in a church?" she asked him harshly. "Will you never let me seek counsel without your knowledge?"

He had known she would be angry with him. He must respond to her carefully because he did not want to upset her anymore than necessary. "I had followed you hoping that you were going to the bookstore. I had planned to get you something there."

"If that was the case, why did you not turn around when you saw where I was going?" she pressed him.

"Fine then, I admit when I saw where you were going I became curious. There is only one reason why you would come here: that damned Catholic guilt instilled in you by your mother." Here he paused, then took a deep breath before he continued, "I am glad I followed you. I heard every word you said to that priest. You feel no need to confess because there is no shame in what we are to each other. And I love you all the more for saying it." When he concluded his speech Erik had the good grace to look down, preparing himself for her to storm away from him.

"You do not hate me for not trusting you with Christine?"

"You know me better than I know myself. Can I help being torn between you both? I cannot be certain what will happen between Christine and I when we meet, but at this moment, I cannot imagine you not being in my life. You have become as much a part of me as she ever was. But I feel something with you that I never did with her."

"And what is that?" she said, almost daring him to lie to her.

"Peace, Gia. You give me the peace I have never known and longed for. You stop the fevered dreams. You make me a real man." He said it quietly, his voice nearly breaking on the words.

"You are a real man, Erik. In every sense of the word. I would not love you as I do if you were not," she replied, as she reached out for him, taking his face in her hands. She even slipped a couple fingers just under his mask to gently stroke the mangled flesh there. Erik brought his gloved hands to her wrists holding them loosely, the black leather easily enveloping them, and he closed his eyes cherishing the sensation of her flesh against his. They stood there for a few moments, the light coming through the stained glass bathing them in blue, red, and yellow light.

Standing where she was, the light had created a halo around her bronzed hair, giving her an almost angelic visage. "You should go back to the Metropolitan. I will meet you there," he promised her.

Gia did not want to make the walk alone. It was not far or particularly dangerous considering it was still early in the afternoon, but she wanted him by her side out in the world if only this one time. "Come with me Erik. Just as far as the dance shop, I can check to see if my stockings have arrived, and then you can go ahead to the opera house."

He was hesitant to agree, they would certainly make for an odd sight strolling through the streets of Paris. But when she took his right hand in her left and entwined her fingers with his, he was loathe to tell her no. They walked out of the church hand in hand, and Erik felt incredibly self-conscious. His first instinct was to flee for the shadows in order to escape the gazes of the masses. His eyes constantly wandered through the faces looking for disgust, and yet there was none. No one seemed to pay them any mind, they were far too focused on the dramas of their individual lives. All too soon they came to the dance shop and they parted company.

He waited for her in the hallways behind the dance practice rooms and she came along not long after carrying a small brown package. She lit up when she saw him, treating him to a wide, happy smile. Her lips were petal pink and he had to have them against his. They met in a bruising kiss, and her package dropped to the floor, momentarily forgotten. His hands were in her hair, and he could feel hers digging into his shoulder blades. He wanted to throw her up against the wall, pin her there with her long legs gripping his waist as he had seen so many lovers in the past. Before he let his passion run away with him, he broke them apart, both of them gasping for breath. He bent down and picked up the package and tucked it under his left arm. He extended his right hand to Gia who took it obligingly. The trip back to his lair could not be over soon enough.

* * *

The hallways were not well lit and Adrienne could barely make out the figures in the hallway. From her hiding place, she watched as the two lovers parted. She would have recognized the woman anywhere. The height and size of the woman were a dead give away. Not to mention the unruly hair whose odd brownish red shade belonged to only one person she knew and the ugly black dress. She had come down here hoping to catch Gianna Burnside trysting with her lover, and there she was with her hands all over some strange man. To her great disappointment the man was neither ugly nor ill dressed.

They were standing in profile, and since both were wearing almost all black and were wrapped around each other, it was impossible to see where one ended and the other began. Adrienne could not place the man, indeed she liked to believe that she would have recalled a man with such a fine figure. He was tall, and his dark hair was artfully slicked back. His long cloak looked expensive. She could just make out the gold lining. He was kissing Gia like a man possessed, and from what Adrienne could see the man knew what he was doing. And who would have expected that the cold Mademoiselle Burnside was capable of being aroused by anyone?

When they suddenly broke apart Adrienne feared that she had made some sound giving her away, but to her relief the man only stooped long enough to pick something up off the ground which he then tucked under one arm. It was only when he extended his hand to Gia that she noticed that there was something odd about his face. It looked like there was something white covering a portion of the right side. He must be scarred in some dreadful way if he felt the need to wear a mask. That thought filled her with glee. Oh how she would taunt Gia at the first opportunity on Monday! That insufferable bitch would get what was coming to her!

Adrienne watched, expected them to come toward her or head out toward the stables where the man probably had a carriage waiting for them, but instead they seemed to evaporate into the shadows in the hallway. Where the hell had they gone? She went down the hall to investigate, and she ran her small hands along the wall looking for a catch that would reveal a secret door. When her right hand came across a small latch, she lifted it, and a panel fell away from the wall. Adrienne peeked inside, and stepped into the unfamiliar corridor. They must have come this way, but where were they going? She was not about to go wandering about the opera house without an escort, particularly when she had no idea what could be lurking down here. At the squeal of a rat, Adrienne leaped back through the wall and shut the panel behind her.

What kind of man wore a mask and would take a woman into the bowels of the theater? Frankly, the young mezzo did not care. But she would be sure that Monsieur Dupoix would learn of Gia's extracurricular activities as soon as she had a chance to make an appointment to see him.


	34. 34

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the continued good reviews. This chapter proved rather difficult for me to write, and although it meant moving in a direction I had no initially anticipated, I believe in the end it will make for a better overall story. I apologize in advance for the cliffhanger. Please read and review.**

* * *

Adrienne went back to her room to ready herself for her engagement that evening. Her current paramour was the second son of a duke, very rich, and quite handsome. Naturally, he had a fiancée and as she was of noble birth as well, he had to have someone to slake his desires on. He paid her well for her attentions, and he was certainly not the worst lover she'd ever had. He took his time, and he seemed to actually be concerned that she receive pleasure from their encounters. Adrienne was hopeful that he might make her his official mistress once he married the girl because she feared her tenure at the Metropolitan would soon be coming to an end.

Ever since the arrival of the new ballet mistress Madame Giry and the new director, Monsieur Reyer, she had felt her position becoming more tenuous, the main reason being that she had slept with the previous director regularly to insure her supremacy over Gianna Burnside. When she had initially joined the company a little over a year ago as a member of the chorus, the position of lead mezzo soprano had recently become vacant and the assumption had been that since Gia had been there for years, it was hers for the taking. Although Adrienne was a newcomer to the opera house, she had boldly suggested to the director that he hold open auditions and he had agreed with her. Gia had sung well, but not her best, perhaps because of the recent death of her mother, and Adrienne had taken advantage of that. To be certain that she would get the designation as a principle she had offered herself to the director. The ploy had worked and Gia had been relegated to the position of understudy, although she acted like it didn't bother her in the least.

But Monsieur Reyer could not be manipulated with sex. His only concern was what was best for the opera house and the production being mounted. She could tell that he preferred Gianna's interpretation of _The Magic Flute_ to hers. It was only a matter of time before he would inform Dupoix that Adrienne would have to be demoted. Adrienne saw a demotion as a public humiliation she could not stand for. She had clawed her way out of the gutter, and she was not going back.

Her mother had been a dancer in a small touring company who had this misfortune of getting herself pregnant by another dancer who abandoned her and the company in short order. Adrienne had started performing almost from the time she could walk, and her mother had encouraged her to work hard to continually improve herself. She had loved singing and dancing equally, but her mother had said there was a more secure, prestigious future in singing. Dancers were often seen as little more than whores, but singers, particularly opera singers were often revered and quite fashionable in Paris.

At sixteen she stopped dancing regularly and focused completely on singing. She had a good voice and a good ear for music, but she had struggled with learning the words to many of the arias and choruses. She had never had much formal schooling, and she could barely read French as it was. To her consternation operas were often written in Italian, and that meant learning her parts phonetically most of the time. The one thing she had envied Gia for was her education. She had been amazed when she first arrived at the Metropolitan how well Gia could speak in more than one language, and it was then when the first seeds of resentment had been sown.

Adrienne's vocal range had kept her from becoming a diva, but with her dark grey eyes and raven black hair, her looks had gotten her noticed. At fourteen she was approached for the first time about being paid for sex, and it had shocked her. She told her mother whose only response was to ask how much the gentleman had offered for her. She coldly informed Adrienne that this was the way of the world, but she should be careful not to let herself go cheaply, particularly since there were men who would pay a fortune for a virgin. Less than a month after that her mother arranged for her first lover, and since that time she had never been without a patron for longer than a week. In addition, she had occasionally taken lovers among the people with she worked.

Sex had made Adrienne a woman before her time. For her it was a commodity to get what she needed, and had little to do with love. She rarely enjoyed it, and saw it as a hassle most of the time. Getting undressed wrinkled her clothes and mussed her hair, and the touching and sweat that went along with fucking ruined her carefully applied makeup. But men could not do without it, and the money was excellent for something that often did not last long. At least as a part of the arrangements, the gentlemen usually took her to dinner or perhaps a play which was much more interesting to her than what came afterward. Over the years however, she had learned to play along, moaning and crying out appropriately to satisfy her customers.

Most women in her position did the same. The salary paid by the Metropolitan was not enough to meet all of her expenses. The men paid for the fine clothes and scent that she could not otherwise begin to afford. It had never been a consideration that it was only optional. But then there was Gianna Burnside, a woman with no lovers, who seemed content to live simply and behaved as though she had no ambition. Women like that could never be trusted. It would only be a matter of time before she would succumb to a man, and Adrienne was determined that she would not get the best of her.

She lived for the day when she would have the wherewithal to cease performing both on stage and in men's beds. If anyone was going to land a wealthy man to take her away from this cursed place, it would be her! Not the old dried up former dancer! She had to get rid of her in some way, and she knew it would not be easy. Gia was popular with the staff and Monsieur Dupoix had always protected her. It would take a scandal for her to be dismissed. Having a lover would not be enough. There had been something about the man she had glimpsed with Gia that had reminded her of something, but at the moment she could not place it.

She went into her wardrobe and began selecting clothes for the evening. She chose a deep blue gown that was heavily embellished with embroidery on the bodice and the skirts. Setting it aside on her bed, she sat down at her vanity to arrange her hair and apply what she often thought of as her war paint. It was as she sat before the mirror she remembered the tales she had once heard about a spirit that came for young girls through mirrors and whisked them off to ravish them. She had thought it was just a story until the business with the Phantom of the Opera had made it onto the front pages of all the Parisian papers.

At the time, Adrienne had been singing in a small light opera company, and although she had heard some of the stories that strange, mysterious things often happened at the Opera Populaire she had paid them no mind. But then the opera house was destroyed, and she could vividly recall asking her lover at the time, whose name or face she could not recall, to tell her about what happened. It seemed the Phantom was not a specter at all, but a lunatic man who kidnapped the newest opera diva onstage and when he was unmasked, he cut down the chandelier and escaped with her. She had been rescued by the Viscomte de Chagny who married her shortly thereafter.

The pieces began to fall in place in her mind, and Adrienne came to the conclusion that Gia's lover must be the mysterious Phantom. The man she had seen had worn a mask, and that hidden passage no doubt led to where he lived beneath the opera house. No wonder Gia had been given such a large part in _Giselle_! The besotted Phantom must have insisted on it and threatened the manager in some way. It was almost too good to be true. This was the perfect way to finally rid herself of Gianna Burnside.

Dupoix would be incredulous when he learned that his dearest Gia had been dallying with the notorious Phantom of the Opera. He would have to discharge her. Adrienne's eyes darkened with her triumph. If that was not enough for Dupoix she could simply report Gia to the gendarmes. The Phantom was still a wanted man, and for Gia to be keeping his existence a secret must be some sort of crime. Why, there might even be some sort of financial reward in it for her! Perhaps she would finally be able to retire.

Adrienne finished dressing, and met her gentleman for an evening of dinner and dancing. She found herself quite distracted most of night, and she was most anxious for the night to be finished with. She found it difficult to feign pleasure as Henri had labored over her that night, and he had noticed. For once she did not care if her partner was dissatisfied. Tomorrow there would be no opportunity to meet with Dupoix, but come Monday after rehearsal she would expose Gia and her erstwhile lover. That was more important to her than losing a paying customer. He was easily replaced, there was no replacement for revenge on her rival.

* * *

Erik and Gia spent the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday together. To be sure, a good deal of it was spent making love, but they also ate together, and Gia insisted on helping Erik with the food even though she knew nothing about cooking. After she managed to ruin a saucepan by blackening the contents beyond recognition, he insisted that she would best be of help by staying out of the kitchen. She had apologized, and later that evening asked him to show her how to wash dishes. They had ended up soaking wet, covered in bubbles, and so hot for each other that they barely made it to the bedroom.

Laughter and happiness was the one constant that weekend. In his lair, it was as if they were the only two people alive, and neither seemed to want anything beyond that. On Sunday morning, he sat down at the organ and began to play for her Mozart's great _Requiem_, but she had stopped him, saying that despite its beauty, it was far too gloomy for him to play. He had humored her, and instead he began to play something she had not heard before. The music was wondrously passionate, and then he began to sing to her of complete submission and she realized this music could only be from his ill starred opera.

She would not ruminate on the fact it had been written for Christine, she could love the music in its own right. He motioned for her to sit down next to him while he played, and she closed her eyes and simply savored the music. When the duet ended, he stopped playing and asked her what she thought of it.

"You know how good it is Erik. You do not need my approbation. I have heard nothing quite like it," she commented honestly.

The compliment pleased him, and she continued, "Such a shame the premiere was a disaster. You really should submit it to another opera house and see if they will mount the production. Perhaps in Germany—"

"You wish me to leave you?" he said, surprised she would advocate him relocating.

"No, but your work is too good to remain unperformed. I was merely suggesting that in Germany they might be more receptive to your music. You would not need to be the Phantom there to have it played," she reasoned aloud.

She was probably right. His type of music just might find its audience there. It might allow him to put the Phantom completely in the past. He could not imagine setting that part of his life aside so easily. One of the reasons he had come back to Paris was that he was comfortable here. He knew the city like he knew every imperfection of his face. Intimately. He had enjoyed his travels abroad to some extent, but no place had ever felt like home. Increasingly though, home was wherever Gia was.

"Would you come with me? If I wanted you to come with me, would you leave this place for me?"

Gia had never been anywhere else. The Metropolitan and Paris were the only places she had ever known. All of her traveling had come through the books she had read over the years. His question implied that they would make a life together, perhaps even holding themselves out as man and wife. It was a most tantalizing offer, and one her heart longed to accept.

"Erik, are you saying that you would be willing to leave here, with me, and live as a normal couple out in the world?" she asked him, wanting to ascertain his true sentiments.

That was what he was suggesting, wasn't it? How utterly ridiculous! One little stroll around Paris and he was ready to take on the world with her at his side. If he didn't know himself better, he might have thought he had been drinking. "Well, I, yes, I suppose that's what I meant, but you are correct, it would not be wise," he amended.

"I never said that. I just wanted to know if you were serious. If I am going to leave everything I know behind, I need to know if you mean it."

"Assuming I am serious, would you come with me if I asked you?" he asked again.

"Hypothetically speaking, yes I would," she answered him, looking at him directly in the eyes. He blinked back her as though he was surprised she would say such a thing, but he said nothing further on the subject. The matter was closed for the moment, and it would not be brought up by either of them for the rest of the weekend.

* * *

On Monday morning, they both rose early, and prepared for the day. For the first time they dressed in front of each other, and despite the awkwardness, Gia allowed him to help her fasten the buttons on her practice outfit. Rehearsals were set to begin on the main stage, and Erik was quite excited about attending them. Gia had refused to dance for him in his chamber, claiming that the uneven terrain was impossible to work on. She had however done some stretching exercises which had been most enjoyable to watch.

Although they traveled to the surface together, they separated as Erik was going to the theater to find a safe spot to observe from and Gia needed to report to the practice rooms for warm up. Erik ensconced himself in a plush luxury box and listened to the orchestra run through its scales with the ever capable Reyer leading them. The dancers filed in about a half hour later with Madame Giry in complete command. As Act II featured the most dancers and had the most difficult dancing, save for Giselle's solo that ended Act I, that was where they would begin this morning.

The Act opened with Hilarion and his hunting party coming across Giselle's grave in a forest, then when the church bells tolled midnight, they all fled, save the foolish young man. It was at this point the Wilis made their entrance, led by Gia as their Queen. She glided across the stage holding in her right hand an old conductor's baton that Madame Giry had impressed in service from Monsieur Reyer. The corps de ballet trailed after her, and Gia circled the grave, beaconing the ghost of Giselle to join them. Meg emerged from a trapdoor beneath the stage and took her place as the newest of the Wilis.

The choreography that Madame Giry had devised looked much simpler than it was. The steps were not overly difficult from what he could see, but in the corps, if one person made a mistake it would stand out amongst the precision. Giry stopped and started the girls several times pointing out errors that even he did not notice. As he expected, Gia was doing some struggling, evidently the more public nature of this rehearsal was bringing on an attack of nerves. It was not that she was getting the steps wrong, she just seemed tentative, which was something a queen should never be.

Had the rehearsal continued in that fashion, Erik might have found himself losing interest. However, after Madame Giry had them return to the entrance of the Wilis, he observed Adrienne Leveau pouting, frustrated that she was not the center of attention. As they went through the movements, he saw the girl shift her weight subtly when Gia danced past her, the effect of which threw the entire group off balance. A few moments later, she delayed bringing up her arms over her head, and Gia ran into them, which caused her to take a nasty spill.

"You need to watch where you are going!" she said as the music stopped. The young mezzo soprano stood over Gia's sprawled form with a look of superiority on her face. "Madame Giry, I would never propose to tell you how to do your job, but don't you think Mademoiselle Burnside should have an understudy? One of these days, she's going to hurt herself with all her clumsiness, and where will the ballet be then?"

Gia picked herself up off the stage, her face red, but said nothing in response to her. She merely walked into the wings, chalked up her toe shoes, returned to the stage and begged Madame Giry's indulgence for upsetting her rehearsal. From his position, Erik thought, "Well played my dear." Nearly everyone present had to have seen that Gia was not the cause of the collision. By refusing to comment on it, she immediately showed more class and breeding than Adrienne. The young woman was already fuming that Gia had resisted the temptation to employ her occasionally caustic tongue.

Following that, Madame Giry asked the corps to step aside so she could work with Gia and Jean-Paul on Hilarion's dance to death. Erik would have liked to have watched the proceedings, but he noticed that Adrienne was chatting rather animatedly with a couple of the chorus girls whose faces were rapt. Whatever was she telling them? Thankful no one should be in the flies at this stage of the rehearsal, he made his way there so he could discover the content of the conversation.

"Do you think Madame Giry will make you Gia's understudy?" one of the girls asked.

"I don't see why not. I have experience, and I'm certainly as good as she is. If that old bitch Giry passes me over, it will only be because Gia and her daughter have become rather close of late. And speaking of dear Meg, is it just me, or am I the only person disappointed in her? I heard she was a great dancer, but from what I've seen she's nothing out of the ordinary," she sneered loudly.

If there had been a backdrop handy, Erik would have sent it crashing down on her. How dare she insult Gia, Meg, and Antoinette? On second thought, there were plenty of sandbags available. He grabbed one, and dangled it over the edge, positioning it so it would strike Adrienne squarely on the head. He was about to allow it to slip through his hands, and then he thought of how much it would displease Gia if he hurt Adrienne deliberately. He set the weight back down, but he must keep a better eye on Mademoiselle Leveau. The stupid chit would never know how close she had come to feeling the full measure of his wrath.

"Listen to me well girls, do not be taken aback if Gianna Burnside is no longer a member of this company much longer," she said, her voice full of mystery and malice.

The statement jarred Erik, and he was determined that he would he would find out what she was up to. He and Gia were not planning on meeting until rehearsals ended for the day, which meant he could monitor Adrienne during the break for lunch. Madame Giry called for the corps de ballet once again, and this time she allowed them to run through as much of the ballet as possible without stopping them for criticism in order to see if any of the steps needed to be reworked. Once they came to the point where Hilarion was getting swept away by Myrta and her Wilis, she called for the orchestra to stop playing, and she banged her cane hard, indicating her frustration. Antoinette was going to have one of her headaches later. She was already rubbing her temples. Unable to stand it any longer, she adjourned the practice until after lunch.

Adrienne practically bolted, her feet scurrying across the floorboards, as she made a bee line for the manager's office. Erik watched as she knocked politely on the door and waited to be admitted. Dupoix came to the door himself, and after a moment asked her in. Once she had entered the office, Erik used one of the passages he had created to gain entrance to the room, and secret himself behind a bookcase. He had not missed much of their conversation, only the pleasantries of introductions, and Dupoix inquiring why Mademoiselle Leveau was in such need to speak with him.

"Adrienne, it is none of my business if Gianna Burnside has taken a lover. She has conducted herself in a manner above reproach at all times. Furthermore, she is a grown woman and she is fully capable of making her own decisions. If that is all, I suggest you leave and get back to rehearsal," the manager intoned as nicely as possible, but it was obvious he wanted her out of his office.

"But her lover is a criminal! How can you defend that!" she cried out.

"You have no proof, Mlle. Leveau. You told me you spied them in a hallway and that the light was low. Perhaps you imagined seeing the mask," said Dupoix icily, not even making eye contact with her. He was more interested in the financial records he was going over than the ranting of a jealous diva.

Enraged the manager would not see matters her way, Adrienne raged at him, "Fine! If you will not do your duty, than I will! I shall inform the gendarmes that you and Mademoiselle Burnside are harboring a wanted man, and then you shall have to deal with them!"

That remark got Dupoix's attention, and he rose from behind the desk, calling out to her, pleading with her not to leave, that they could discuss the matter further, but Adrienne was having none of it. She yanked the door back sharply and slammed it hard into the manager's face.

Shaken, Dupoix ran his hands through his hair, and began to pace around the room speaking to himself. "My God, what am I going to do? I can either face the ire of the Phantom or the authorities. What kind of choice is that? In either case I shall end up dead and ruined!" he exclaimed as he collapsed against the heavy desk. As his head lay among the sheaves of papers, he thought he heard a sound come from inside the room. When he raised his head, the Phantom loomed ominously in front of him. The man's eyes were filled with hate.

"Do not worry, monsieur," thefigure said, "I will take care of this problem for you."

Somehow his words were not much comfort.


	35. 35

**A/N: I appreciate everyone being so patient about waiting for my updates. I've been working very hard to give you all my best work, and that occasionally means longer waits between chapters. I have a feeling this chapter is going to arouse strong emotions in many of you, and I ask that you refrain from flames unless they are well thought out criticism. Otherwise, please enjoy it, and I look forward to your reviews.**

* * *

It had taken a great deal of Erik's self control not to emerge from his hiding place and throttle Adrienne Leveau on the spot as she threatened to bring the gendarmes against him and Gia. But she had left soon thereafter, and his mind was whirling with possibilities of how to make her suffer. He'd not felt such rage since the night he'd cut down the chandelier at the Populaire, not caring who might be crushed beneath it or what damage it would do to the building. For a moment, his eyes glazed over with red. He wanted blood. He needed it.

He would take care of the situation as he promised Dupoix. Erik took to the corridors, searching for any sign of Adrienne, hoping that she had not left the building yet. He spied her walking through the backstage area, headed for the stables. No doubt she was going to demand a carriage for the trip to station where the gendarmes were headquartered. He had played this game once before, and at the first opportunity he knocked the driver out and took his place at the reins.

Adrienne was none the wiser, despite the fact he was much taller and slimmer than the man she had approached. She was completely oblivious, and only concerned about herself. He could hear her, chattering away to herself as they rode through the streets of Paris about all the things she would do with her reward money. It was not until he crossed the Pont Neuf and entered the Left-Bank that she realized something was wrong.

"Driver, where the hell are you going? This is not the way to the gendarmes station, you idiot! Turn around! I'll drive myself there if you are too stupid to find it."

Erik pointedly ignored her slurs, and continued driving, taking her deep into the quarter. The neighborhood around them was far different than that around the opera house. The signs for shops were worn and the paint was peeling off the clapboard buildings and doors. Instead of open sashes and window boxes filled with spring flowers, the shutters and blinds were drawn, no one anxious to know what was going on in the street below. Few people wandered the streets here, save the occasional drunk or desperate prostitute, and even they were rare sights in the early afternoon.

Every instinct the young mezzo had told her something terrible was about to happen to her. She had been raped before, it would not be the first time she was violated by a man, but the fact he had taken her so far out of the way made her think he would not be satisfied to have her then leave. From the back she could see the driver had strong arms and a broad chest. She would have to hope that if she begged prettily enough, he would not hurt her too badly.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt in front an abandoned shop. There were no signs of life nearby, and the only sound Adrienne was aware of was the sound of the wind whistling down the alleyways. Before the man could turn around and face her, she cried out, "Please sir, do not hurt me! You can take what you want and I promise I won't scream!"

The desperation in her voice had no effect on him. Here she was alone, with a strange man, and still all she could think about was herself! Without looking at her, he said, "Do not worry yourself, my dear. I am not interested in partaking in your dubious charms."

Adrienne was equal parts relieved and offended. How dare he say such a thing about her? The man got down from the driver's seat of the carriage with unconscious grace, and she got a view of his left profile. He was uncommonly handsome, and the mouth had a sensuousness about it that was rare. There was nothing pretty about him, it was just intensely masculine. Perhaps he was one of those men who did not enjoy women. Pity, that. There was something about the way he moved that made her think that fucking him would be a memorable experience.

It was only when he came around to assist her out of the cab that she saw his full face and the mask he was wearing that shielded part of him from view. It was the same man she had seen with Gia, the Phantom of the Opera, her lover! All thoughts of seduction left her. Adrienne was quickly realizing she was drawing her last breaths. Somehow he had heard of her plans, and he had come to dispose of her. She had to admit it was clever of him not to kill her at the Metropolitan where it might raise suspicion. Instead he would kill her in a run down part of town, where her rotting and bloated corpse would be discovered days later, and she would be lucky if her body was even identified. She wound end up nameless and in a pauper's grave.

Her entire body was shaking as her hand met his. There was fear lurking her dark eyes. She knew why he had brought her here. He was almost intoxicated by the power of the situation. She was moving stiffly, but not struggling, knowing it would be a futile gesture on her part. But Erik was impatient, he wanted this over with as soon as possible so he could see Gia again. She would ask questions about Mademoiselle Leveau, and he would have to answer them truthfully. He sighed internally, his face not betraying the fact that this act could cause him to lose the best thing that had happened to him in years. If he was honest with himself, ever.

In his haste, he had begun to drag Adrienne, and now she was fighting against him beating her hands against his chest, her instinct for survival kicking in. He took her down an alley, littered with the discarded trash of the unfortunates who populated the district. To his consternation, they came upon a prostitute and her john, the woman kneeling down, preparing to undo his trousers and service him. At the sound of their entry, both looked up at him, startled by his presence. Without missing a beat, he drew out two hundred franc notes and gave them to each party who dashed away in silence. They would not talk.

Alone, Erik felt oddly seized by pity for his victim. He did not particularly relish this kill as he had some of the others. Buquet and Piangi had at least brought a measure of satisfaction. Now that he thought on it, he had never killed a woman face to face. She opened her mouth to scream, and he placed a gloved hand over her mouth and backed her up against rough wall. "No, my dear. No screaming. I promise you, this will all be over soon. I suggest you ask whatever higher power you believe in, if you believe in one at all to forgive you your sins. He may, but I cannot," he said with devastating frankness as he brought the rope noose around her neck, and tightened it quickly.

Adrienne's small white hands began to clutch and grip at the rope and the man's hands, trying desperately to free herself. There was no air! Frantically she fought him, but the harder she tried, the quicker she felt herself slipping into eternal unconsciousness. It was too much to fight him, and she stopped struggling, and let her hands droop to her sides.

Erik watched as resignation took over her, she knew death had finally come for her, but her eyes were still entreating him to free her. They were bulging and glazing over, but he found he could not squeeze harder and take her life. He released her, and after she took a few quick breaths to get her bearings, she ran off. A few seconds later, he heard a strange scream, and Erik found himself going towards it. The alley made a sharp turn, and as he rounded the corner, he saw in front of him a steep staircase. In this section of the city they were surprisingly common. Lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, blood oozing from her head was Adrienne Leveau. In her rush to escape, she must not have looked where she was going and fallen to her death.

He was going to leave her there, but he thought he saw her chest move slightly. He watched her closely and discovered his eyes had not been deceiving him. The girl was injured, but alive. He marched down the stairs, and carefully picked up her up, trying to move her as little as possible. The only sound she made was a strangled moan that sounded unearthly. Erik carried the woman back to carriage and lay her out flat and covered her with a blanket, then drove back to the safer section of Paris slowly, choosing routes that were the best maintained so she would be jostled as little as possible.

As he drove, he considered what he should do with her. He should have left her there to die, but even Adrienne did not deserve to die that slowly and painfully. He cursed himself for not being the unfeeling man he had been two years ago. That man wouldn't have given a damn about some stupid chorus girl. But that man also would not have batted an eyelash while murdering her. He hadn't even been able to do that.

As he neared the opera house, an almost mad thought came to him. Within mere moments he arrived at his destination, St. Etienne's. He suspected that the church would be open, and it was. Silently, he carried Adrienne, who had mercifully become unconscious, and left her laying down in one of the last pews along the nave of the nearly deserted church. In the front, Erik could make out the form of a man clothed in a long dark cassock. To get his attention, on his way out of the church, he deliberately knocked over a large candelabra. As he suspected, the young man came running to see what caused the commotion. While Erik stole out of the building unobserved, he could hear the man's voice calling for assistance.

* * *

Among the few parishioners in St. Etienne's had been one of the under seamstresses employed by the Metropolitan. She came running when she heard young Father Ferrier calling for help. When she had gasped at the gruesome sight in the pew he asked her if she knew who the unfortunate woman was. She explained that it appeared to be Adrienne Leveau who was one of the principle members of the company, and he requested that she remain with the woman until he could send someone to fetch a doctor. The priest returned in short order having sent one of the boys who worked at the rectory to go for the doctor. He then released the seamstress so she could return to her duties at the opera house. She, in turn, had been spreading the shocking news about Mademoiselle Leveau to all would hear her.

Gia heard the news shortly before practice was set to resume after the lunch break. The reports were varied, some claiming Adrienne was at death's door, and others saying that she had merely been injured. Her first thought was that Erik had to be involved in some way, but she could not think of a reason why he would attack Adrienne. Yes, she had been rather rude during the morning rehearsal, but nothing that warranted anything of great magnitude. Still, she would ask him about it later. She glanced up at the boxes, wondering if he was up there, watching even now.

When Madame Giry arrived, she excused anyone who felt unable to work because of the sad news regarding Mademoiselle Leveau. A few girls in the corps with tear stained faces and red noses slunk off the stage, but the great majority of those present were aware the gala opening would not wait for them. It was too late to recast, so there would simply have to be one less Wili, something that would not cause too much havoc. With Adrienne and her cronies gone, Gia was far more relaxed and found the rehearsal period flying by. Although they worked late into the afternoon, she was largely unaware of the passage of time.

Just as the rehearsal was ending, Monsieur Dupoix shuffled onto the stage looking distraught. All the blood had drained from his face making his skin nearly transparent. He was wringing his hands constantly, and it was almost as if he was uncomfortable facing them. It could only mean one thing: Adrienne was dead. Even though he had not said a word, Gia could feel her eyes becoming moist. She had not liked the girl in the least, but to die so young was always a tragedy.

"I am here to inform you that Mademoiselle Adrienne Leveau has been returned to her rooms in the opera house." The words had an astonishing effect, suddenly everyone was talking at once, overwhelming the poor man with questions. He motioned for everyone to settle down, then continued, "Mlle. Leveau is gravely injured and it will be sometime before she can even speak to anyone. We are not sure exactly what occurred this afternoon, but she was seemingly kidnapped by someone posing as a carriage driver, and assaulted later. At some point, she was brought to St. Etienne's, how or by whom is not known. However, from what the doctor has told me, her voice has been damaged and she cannot move her legs. It is doubtful she will ever perform again," he concluded.

The theater once again erupted with people talking all at once, but Gia could find no words. She felt a somewhat cold hand on her shoulder, and she turned to face the ballet mistress who had a most distressing look on her face. It would seem she shared Gia's concern that somehow Erik was involved in this from the way her brow was tightly drawn and her lips pursed.

Once they were safely backstage and alone, the older woman admitted that her first thought on hearing about Adrienne Leveau was that Erik had hurt her. But she had hoped that perhaps he was no longer willing to use violence to fulfill his desires.

"Is it possible he was not there to see what she did earlier today?" the ballet mistress had inquired, trying to be optimistic, a rare thing indeed for her.

"He was there. He was looking forward to watching practice the entire weekend. I am certain he had to have seen what she did. I did not think he would capable of doing such a thing, even though I know he has killed in the past."

"I would not have thought it either. So my dear, you spent the entire weekend with him? I trust you enjoyed yourself?" she said shifting the conversation to something far more pleasant. Gia blushed scarlet, and that told Madame Giry all she needed to know about how they had spent the weekend.

"I know this is going to sound terrible, but it seems uncharacteristic of Erik from all I have heard of him to leave someone alive like this. I was under the impression his pattern was to cause small 'accidents' that would serve as an object lesson, and if that did not suffice he would simply remove the foolish party."

"You are correct, my dear. There was no in between with the Phantom. You either complied or you died. It was a most effective way of doing business. Perhaps we are jumping to conclusions then. It is possible that someone else was responsible. She was not the most beloved person. She might have angered the wrong person with that nasty disposition of hers." The way Madame Giry spoke, it sounded as though she was trying to convince herself of the truth of those last sentences. It did no good to her or Gia.

From the dark penumbra of the hallways, a voice said, "It was me, I am largely responsible for what happened." He emerged slowly, ashamed to face both women who had been trying to hard to convince themselves that it could not have been him. Madame Giry bore the news stoically, her expression barely changing, save for the small downturn of her mouth which she quickly rectified. Gia, on the other hand, had a more profound reaction, her mouth dropped open slightly, and then she turned away from him.

"Why, Erik?" Madame Giry asked, as she comforted Gia by giving her a warm embrace. "She did not deserve to be permanently maimed for merely insulting Gia. You normally act with more finesse," she coldly stated. "But you have been known to overreact in the past."

The remark stung more than it should have. He was well aware that he had gone too far in the past. "I only did what I did to protect Gia. I followed Mlle. Leveau after rehearsal adjourned for lunch and she went to Dupoix. She told him she saw Gia trysting with her lover in a hallway and that she believed he was the Phantom of the Opera. When he attempted to brush her off, she threatened to go the gendarmes. If I had not stopped her, at this moment Gia would most likely be under arrest for suspicion of harboring a wanted man."

Gia removed herself from Madame Giry and turned to face him, guilt etched across her face. "Do not put this at my feet Erik! Would it not have been more merciful to kill her? You have left her with no means to support herself! What is she going to do?" she beseeched him, visibly upset. She turned away once more, unable to even look at him. She wrapped her left arm around herself and the right hand supported her forehead as she shook it.

"I cannot do this right now! Forgive me, I need to be alone!" she cried softly as she excused herself, quitting the scene. Erik watched her leave, knowing it would be better to give her some time alone. His eyes followed her until he could no longer see her. He continued to stare down the hallway until Madame Giry's voice brought him back to reality.

"She has a valid point. Why didn't you kill her outright? You have condemned the woman to a wretched existence. I had not thought you were still capable of such cruelty."

He did not want to defend his actions to anyone. He had hoped his explanation would satisfy them, although part of him had known his reasoning would not be enough. "I had intended to kill her, Antoinette. From the moment she left that office, I was resolved to end her. It was only during the act I found myself unable to do it. I released her, and then she ran off, and fell down a long flight of stairs. When I saw she had not died, I brought her back. I still do not know why."

Giry could think of nothing to say to him in response. His belated act of mercy had only worsened the situation. If the girl did regain her voice, she would undoubtedly condemn Erik and Gia to the authorities. Something would have to be done.

Erik left her, and Madame Giry spent most of that evening in a daze. She was unable to concentrate and her head throbbed. Sleep proved elusive. She struggled for a solid hour, then abandoned the bed so at least Meg could take some much needed rest. Once she was certain her daughter had fallen asleep, she took with her a set of keys and an old feather pillow.

The hall was deserted, save a sleeping man who had been posted in a chair outside Adrienne's room as protection. Giry moved silently in the darkness, the only sound coming when the lock clicked, and the door creaked open. Giry watched to see if the man stirred, but his snoring continued unabated.

Closing the door behind her, she then approached the bed where Adrienne lay. Her breathing was labored and shallow, each one a struggle for her. She looked down at the young woman, knowing what must be done. All those years ago when she had helped Erik by concealing him from the world, she had never once thought those actions would place her in a position such as this one. He had become closer to her than any one in her family save Meg or her husband, and she would not let a woman such as this one be his end. Once again his fate was in her hands and she was determined to save him. For the first time in his life Erik had found love and acceptance. That mattered more to her than murdering a woman whose ability to continue to draw breath threatened all of that. God forgive her!

She brought the down filled pillow down over her face hard and fast, holding it stiffly to cut off the supply of air. Morbidly she noted it did not take much pressure at all. Adrienne barely moved, death coming as a welcome release. She waited until the girl's chest ceased to move, then took the pillow away. To be certain, Giry brought her face close to the girl's mouth to check her breath. There was none.

She exited the room as quietly as she came, taking the pillow, and locking the door behind her. She reminded herself to dispose of the pillow in the coal furnace tomorrow. Calm washed over her, and she closed her eyes. Sleep came rather quickly after that.


	36. 36

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your responses to the last chapter! Also, I want to thank all of you who have been sending me reviews since the beginning. I sincerely hope that the new names I have been finding in my inbox continue to review as well. And because you have all been so wonderful, I can almost certainly promise you smut in the next installment. Looking forward to hearing from you all soon!**

* * *

Pierre's regular employment was as one of the scenery shifters at the Metropolitan but when he was informed by Monsieur Dupoix he could earn an extra few francs guarding Adrienne Leveau's door, he had jumped at the chance for the extra coin. It did not promise to be an overly taxing duty since the attack on the woman had occurred far from the opera house. Why would he risk chasing after her here? The man probably thought she was dead at any rate. For that reason he felt no guilt when he allowed himself to fall asleep late last night. When he awoke he went to do as he had been instructed the night before, check on Mademoiselle Leveau and if she was in any distress to fetch the doctor. 

The room was devoid of noise when he entered it, and the young woman on the bed lay completely still. It struck him, a man with no education to speak of as not normal. There was something not quite right, and afraid, he poked at her, standing as far away as possible. There was no reaction, and he tentatively lay a hand against her cheek. The skin was cool to the touch. She had to be dead. He automatically crossed himself.

Not certain of what to do, but remembering his instructions, he went for the doctor who had as a courtesy spent the night at the opera house in one of the private dressing rooms. He spent all of a minute in the room and stated that she must have simply passed away during the night, most likely because she stopped breathing. It was not uncommon with people who had suffered injuries such as hers. The doctor calmly gave the sad news to the manager who promised he would make the arrangements for her funeral and burial, since as far as he knew, the girl had no family.

In the wee hours of earlier that morning, Antoinette Giry made her way to the boiler room where the coal furnace was. She was aware she was quite fortunate that it had not been put out. The April nights were still cold enough that the fire was still fed. She had to be cautious that she was not seen, but few were awake at four in the morning. She tucked the pillow she had used to smother Adrienne Leveau with under her arm. She walked swiftly, but not too quickly; she did not want anyone to wonder where she was off to or ask questions should they happen to be awake.

The heat from the furnace room was stifling even though she stood before the iron door wearing only her nightshift and a pair of slippers. The handle on the door would be hot, and Giry used a corner of her gown to protect her hand. The blazing heat hit her hard, forcing her to take a step back. The orange-red depths looked almost alive as the heat poured off in waves. She carefully added the pillow to the fire, and watched as the flames consumed it. She would not leave until she could be certain there was no evidence of the crime she had committed.

A chill ran down her spine despite the warmth. Aside from that, she could feel nothing. It was as if her soul had become numb. Had Erik felt like this when he killed the gypsy who had been his keeper? Probably not. But then, Erik had ample justification for killing him due to the abuse he had endured. She would share this with no one, despite the fact her actions would eat away at what was left of her heart. She had taken this burden on. She had done it out of love for Erik and for Gia. As the last of the pillow disappeared into the flames, she shut the furnace door then returned to her room to dress. No doubt Dupoix would want to make an announcement before rehearsal about the death of Adrienne Leveau.

As Madame Giry had anticipated, Dupoix made the announcement that Adrienne had died during the night not long after rehearsal had begun on the stage. When there were frightened gasps from the assembled company, he assured them that the physician had determined her death had been from complications due to her injuries, and was not unnatural. He went on to add that the funeral would take place at St. Etienne's on Thursday morning. All rehearsals would be suspended that morning so all who wanted to attend the funeral could do so.

Once he left Madame Giry took a moment to address her dancers. "I realize the events of yesterday have come as a great shock to many of you. And although this will seem callous of me, I want to say here and now, I will not allow Mademoiselle Leveau's untimely death interfere with my rehearsals. Save for Thursday morning, all practices will go on as scheduled. I expect ALL of you to attend unless you are gravely ill. There is much work to do. I remind you that the reputation of this opera house may well rest on how well we perform in a little over two weeks. Now, let us begin from the beginning of Act II."

There were some grumbles of discontent, but for the most part, everyone seemed to be in agreement. Mourning could take place behind closed doors, but life would go on. Monsieur Reyer struck up the entr'acte and everyone took their places and the rehearsal proceeded like any other.

In one of the upper balconies Erik found himself stunned. Adrienne was dead! No matter it had not been directly by his hands, he was the supervening cause. He should have controlled his anger. But he knew that he had done what was necessary to protect Gia. It was lamentable that Adrienne was dead, but Gia was safe from her slanders. He should have made a greater effort to control her when he released her, but it had all happened so quickly. In one moment he could think of nothing but squeezing the life from the mezzo's body, and then he had really looked at her and what he was doing, and he found he could not continue.

He had hoped that Adrienne would recover from her injuries eventually and that Gia would be able to forgive him. A reconciliation was unlikely now. She would blame him, no matter what the doctor had said. He deserved every bit of hatred she heaped upon him. He turned his focus back to the stage and watched Gia at work. While some of the other ladies of the corps de ballet were decidedly distracted, her thoughts looked to be on the task at hand. Gia was beginning to make the role of Myrta her own, and her confidence appeared to be growing. At least he had given her this. She would finally have her moment in the spotlight, and she would rise to the occasion.

The thought she might never speak to him again caused his entire body to shudder. How would he live without her? It was not just the physical intimacy they shared, but over the weekend they had become as one. He could not imagine finding that closeness with anyone, even Christine! He had to convince her to come back to him. He could not live without her!

Listen to yourself, you melodramatic bastard! This is what years of living and breathing opera has done to you. Can you not recall what happened the last time you tried to force your affections on a woman? Distraught, Erik found himself unable to watch the rehearsal any longer. It was simply too painful. He retreated to his lair to think about what his best course of action would be to try to win Gia back. He was not even certain if he should try. It might be best to simply leave.

* * *

The news that Adrienne was dead had wounded Gia. Her first instinct had been to rush off, find Erik, and scream at him for what his actions had caused. She could not prevent the dark thought that perhaps her death had not been natural as the physician had decreed, but that during the night he had stolen into Adrienne's bedroom and finished what he had started. Even more unsettling was the knowledge that he had attacked Adrienne in order to protect her, or so he said. He had just as much to lose as she did if she had been successful in summoning the gendarmes to the Metropolitan.

The thought he was willing to kill for her was an unsettling one. He had killed before during his obsession with Christine. Did he think of her the same way? Was it only a matter of time before he began festooning his lair with drawings of her and composing music for her?

That would never happen. She did not possess the sort of beauty that inspired men in that way. He loved her, but it was a quiet, intense love, not the all consuming lust he'd once had for Christine. A part of her envied Christine for that. Certainly he had never failed to satisfy her when they made love, but she wondered if he had been holding anything back. Was there a part of him still saving the full measure of his passion for Christine? Would that always be the case?

Gia pushed that aside and concentrated on the rehearsal. It was much easier to get lost in the music and the steps of the dance than to think of the implications of what had happened the day before. She had removed herself after Erik made his confession because she had not wanted to say anything that would make it impossible for them to be together again. One night alone without his presence had been uncomfortable. Her life was cold and empty without his embrace and his hot green eyes to warm her.

She should hate him and want nothing to do with him after what he had done to Adrienne. Instead all she wanted was to forgive him and somehow forget the entire incident. But Adrienne was dead. Her soul had left this life and passed into the next one, and he was at least partially responsible for it. How could should forgive him and not hate herself for it? Would that not mean she was condoning murder?

Her mind awhirl with all these questions, Gia approached Madame Giry after practice backstage. The ballet mistress did not look the same as she did yesterday. She moved as if there was some heavy burden on her shoulders, and yet her face was almost a complete blank. The knuckles on her right hand were bone white from clutching her cane so tightly. Gia even thought she heard an audible sigh come from the woman who had always been the picture of restraint when she drew near.

"Madame Giry, may I speak with you for a moment, if it is not too inconvenient?" Gia asked carefully.

For a moment Giry seemed to become her old self, relaxing slightly, but the tension returned the moment she began to speak. "I have an excellent idea of what you wish to discuss my dear. You looked rather shocked at the news of Mademoiselle Leveau's untimely demise. Surely you know that such deaths are not uncommon given the extent of her injuries?"

"Still I fear that Erik was involved in some way. And even if he was not, he was the one who put her in that position! And what of me? He did it to protect me! How am I supposed to live with that?" she implored the older woman, her eyes swimming with tears.

Giry replied flatly, "There is no reason for us to doubt the doctor's medical opinion. If it had been murder, I would have thought there would have been some evidence of it. She just stopped breathing, Gia. You must not destroy yourself over this." Seeing how beside herself the young woman was, she took her by the hands and led her into one of the deserted practice rooms. "If you had not left so quickly last night you would know that Erik did not mean for this to happen."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Simply this: Erik told me that while he had every intention to kill Adrienne when he first took her from the opera house, he was not able to do it. He released her and then she ran off and fell. He brought her back to St. Etienne's out of guilt, not that he would ever admit to that aloud. You have changed him, Gia. At any other time I have known him, Erik would not have hesitated. He would have killed that girl and left her in some alley and not thought twice about it."

It had been an accident? She should have stayed and listened to what he had to say. He deserved better than for her just to run off thinking the worst of him. She could only hope that he would not stay away for long. He had to know that she had already forgiven him. Christ, she had forgiven him before she had known he had not meant to kill her! If she knew him, he was probably down in his home at this very moment torturing himself, channeling his guilt into his music.

Gia bid the ballet mistress adieu and thanked her for the conversation. That night she knelt before her bed and asked God to bring Erik back to her. She needed him.

* * *

The rehearsals went on as scheduled on Wednesday, and still Gia saw no sign of Erik. She was not even sure he was watching them practice. She prayed at every opportunity that he would not stay away much longer. She needed to speak with him, if only to hear that mellifluous voice of his. His absence had only magnified what a stark, lonely existence she had without him. Being alone had once been a comfort, but now she found it intolerable. Even her books had proved to be ill company.

Thursday morning dawned warm and lovely, and Gia arose early to dress for the funeral. She may have not liked Adrienne Leveau in life, but she had been a colleague, and good manners, nay more than that, her soul demanded she attend, even if it was uncomfortable. She wore one of her best black gowns, and wore no adornment. Her only accessory her reticule in which she had placed her mother's rosary beads.

She arrived at the church early, and the place was nearly filled with the various employees of the Metropolitan. Everyone was dressed in the best dark clothing they owned, and more than a few looked uneasy simply sitting in the church waiting for the Mass to begin. Gia did not doubt that many of them had not been inside a church in years. When she went to sit in the back of the church, she caught a flash of blonde hair in the corner of her eye and saw Meg Giry gesturing for her to take a seat with her and her mother. Gratefully Gia sat next to them, but she could not help noting that Madame Giry looked incredibly worn.

There were dark circles under her eyes, and the woman was working her own strand of rosary beads feverishly. She was so lost in them, that she did not even bid Gia good morning, and Gia was not about to interrupt her. It was only when the strains of the entrance hymn began that the older woman even looked up. She gave Gia a world weary smile, and they watched as the coffin was borne in by six pallbearers.

It was strange, despite the somber occasion, the church itself was beautiful. The nearly cloudless day had caused the church to be filled with light, setting off the stained glass. The colors fell all over the mourners and the cotton draped casket. At the altar, there were large wreaths of flowers, no doubt paid for by the opera house. And when then coffin came to its rest at the front of the church, a small bouquet of white roses was laid at the center of it. Obviously someone had loved Adrienne a great deal to go to such expense. It made Gia feel all the more wretched that she had despised the girl so much.

Father Lessard presided over the Mass, but Gia was barely able to concentrate on what was going on around her. It was the first funeral she had been to since her mother's, and the familiar prayers brought her no comfort. What would her mother think of the situation she had put herself in? She would be appalled that her daughter had taken up with a man who dare not show his face in public. She would have castigated Gia for sleeping with a man who was not her husband without even the hint of a promise of marriage. Gia thought back and recalled that he had once said he would take her with him if he was going to leave. That mattered more to her than a ring and some words mumbled before a priest or magistrate.

An hour later the Mass had ended and Gia found herself out on the street in the full sun. The birds were singing, unaware of the tragedy of the say. The burial was going to be private, with only Adrienne's close friends attending. Truth be told, Gia was relieved to be free of her obligation. Outside the church, she murmured another prayer for the peaceful repose of Adrienne's spirit. The last thing she needed was for a real ghost to start haunting her, she thought with a half-hearted laugh before she made her way back to her room at the opera house. There she divested herself of the gown and put her practice things back on. Madame Giry was sure to be testy at having lost the morning to the funeral.

As Gia had predicted, the stern ballet mistress worked them hard during the afternoon, but upon seeing that the corps de ballet was unfocused she abruptly dismissed them saying they were wasting her time. Her face had become red with fury, something none of them had ever seen before, and even Monsieur Reyer looked shocked. She spent what was left of the rehearsal with the principle dancers who were so stunned by her outburst that they jumped whenever she opened her mouth, afraid she would find fault with them. Something was wrong with Madame Giry, Gia realized, but she doubted that she would share it with anyone.

Once the rehearsal had mercifully ended, Gia went back to her room, anxious to get away, even though she dreaded another night of solitude. She was quite taken aback when she opened the door to find Erik sitting in her bedside chair, looking immaculate, his hands neatly folded in his lap with his head bowed low. She would wager he had been here some time waiting for her. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with emotion, but he said nothing.

"Erik," was the only thing that came to mind, and she said it softly, almost unbelieving he was there. She closed the door which made a soft click as it shut.

"I know you cannot stand the sight of me now, but I had to see you. If only to say goodbye to you. I could not leave Paris without speaking to you again."

"You are leaving?" she replied, her voice shaking.

"I believe it would be best. I do not want to endanger you any longer. You will be better off without me," he said in response.

Immediately she could feel her temper rising, angry he would make such assumptions about her, even if she had given him ample reason to believe he was unwanted here. "How dare you make such an assumption? I am offended you would make such a rash decision that would affect both of us without talking to me first."

"That is why I came. I felt you should know. I could have just left a note and left during the night. You deserve better than that, Gia. Better than me," he said, his eyes once again trained on the floor.

"Look at me in the eyes when you tell me that, damn it! And damn you, Erik!"

"You should keep your voice down, my darling. People will hear," he said gently.

"I don't CARE anymore. All this hiding, slinking about the corridors at night is beneath us. They can all go to hell for all I care! I do not want you to leave," she stated stubbornly.

"I want to do what is best. You know this is for the best. What kind of life can I offer you? If you had any sense in that pretty head of yours you would realize that. You should despise me for what I've done," he scolded her like a schoolmaster does to his best pupil when he is disappointed at the results of an exam.

At something of a loss, Gia could no longer hold back her discussion with Madame Giry. "I spoke with Madame Giry the other day. She told me what really happened that day. How could I hate you? It was an accident. You let her go. She fell and died in her sleep."

"Yes, but I brought her there to kill her. It was only at the last moment I released her. I wanted to kill her. I am culpable for everything that happened. Any court of law in France would find me guilty," he explained.

Finding this conversation all too painful, Erik made for the wardrobe door, the word goodbye poised on his lips. But before his tongue could make out the word, he was forcibly turned around, and her hands and mouth were all over him, every touch begging him to stay. How the tables had turned! Now she was the one using her body to seduce him, and he found himself unable to resist her. He walked her over to the bed, and they fell in a heap, causing the springs to squeal. But just as their clothes were coming off, she stopped him from going any further. He looked at her, genuinely puzzled.

"We really shouldn't do this right now. It would be not wise," she said, shy about revealing why now was a most importune time to make love.

"A moment ago you were telling me you did not care who heard us. And now you shy away? You have no idea how much I want you right now," he breathed huskily, and went back to caressing her breasts through the thin fabric of her bodice.

Good gracious, this was embarrassing! She had never said anything like this to anyone, save her mother when it happened the first time and she had been certain she was dying. "Erik," Gia stammered, blushing, "I, I have a woman's indisposition at the moment."

It took a moment, but his eyes widened in recognition at what she was saying to him. No wonder she was hesitant! He got up off of her, and adjusted himself, placed a warm kiss on her lips, and once again made to leave, but she stopped him.

"You can stay if you like. I would not object to you sleeping here. I have rather missed waking up to you in the morning," she said, her blue eyes still glazed over with lust.

Erik needed no further encouragement, and he quickly removed his mask, cravat, waistcoat, shoes, and stockings so he could lie with her. They simply basked in the glow of each other's company for a few moments, words not needed to express the feeling of contentment spreading between them.

"I am glad you asked me to stay. It has been hell sleeping without you. You keep away the nightmares," he murmured, drawing her close against him as though she could protect him.

"Nightmares?"

"At night, in my dreams, I see, I hear," he choked out, "The faces and the voices of the people I have killed. Only you keep them away." Gia said nothing, only squeezed him in return. "Last night, I saw Adrienne. Her face, that scream! I can still hear it ringing in my ears!"

Gia flipped around so that she was behind him, and kissed him along the side of his neck. "Hush, my love. Sleep now. I forgive you, Erik, I forgive you everything. I love you. Do not leave me again. Promise me that. Promise me I will not wake up to find you gone forever."

"You would take the word of a killer?"

"No Erik, not a murderer. I would take the word of the man I love," she said as she nestled against him.

He turned to face her, and looked into her eyes, "I promise you. I do not think I could live without you anyway. I am yours."

"If you are mine, than I am equally yours, Erik. Mind, body, and soul, I am yours," she whispered against his lips. They fell asleep like that, face to face, all their masks set aside until the world forced them back on when morning came.


	37. 37

**A/N: As I promised, here is some smut for you all. It's not entirely without plot development, but pretty darn close. I hope you all enjoy it, and let me know what you think. As always, your reviews are an inspiration. I am so thankful to have such wonderful, loyal readers! Happy reading to you all.**

* * *

Gia and Erik fell into an easy routine over the next couple of days. In the mornings they would rise together and help each other dress, Erik giving Gia plenty of privacy as he imagined she would not want anyone to be watching her. They would part, he to the balconies, and she to rehearsal. He watched, and she danced. When the rehearsals ended for the day, he waited for her in her room. Each night she arrived to find he had provided supper for both of them. One night he even tempted her with a chocolate éclair. 

"Erik, I cannot possibly eat that. It will make me fatter, and then I shall get a lecture for it," she said, pushing the decadent pastry away. She wanted it though. She always craved sweets during this part of her cycle.

"I insist, my dear. You know you want it. You should not deprive yourself. Besides you spend all day dancing, one little éclair isn't going to hurt," he argued, as he picked up the pastry and brought it up to her mouth.

She shook her head no, but when Erik lay his other bare hand on her cheek, her mouth dropped open, and he forced her to take a bite. The moan of pleasure she made at the first taste was strikingly familiar. Her tongue snaked out to lick away the chocolate icing on her lips, and he found himself growing hard. He cursed his anatomy under his breath. Would that damn thing never learn to behave? Under different circumstances he would have given Gia his fingers to suck on, as they held remnants of the icing on them, but that would not ease his burgeoning arousal. Instead, he made quick work of them himself, only to find when he finished, Gia brandishing the éclair and urging him to take a bite.

"If I have to eat this, you do too!" she said playfully and he succumbed to her easily, taking a large bite of the confection. It was wonderful. When was the last time he allowed himself to indulge in something like this? And so they fed each other until there was nothing left, and soon after that it was time for bed.

Erik enjoyed having her close to him, but when he would attempt to get her to lie with him in spoon fashion, she would edge away from him. "Not now, Erik," is all she would say about it. He thought she was being overly fastidious, but he did not press the matter. He did not want to make her uncomfortable, and goodness knew she was uncomfortable enough on her own. He had noticed her wincing and rubbing her stomach a few times as if she was in serious pain.

For now they had taken to sleeping face to face, the only parts of them touching their lower legs and feet. As they slid into bed on Saturday evening, Gia informed him that Madame Giry would be holding afternoon rehearsals for the corps de ballet on Sunday to make up for the loss of practice on Thursday. Erik had missed the announcement because he had not returned to the opera house yet from making his lunchtime errands.

"That is most unusual. I cannot recall her ever holding a Sunday rehearsal before. It simply isn't done," he said thinking out loud.

"It's not just that, my love. I can understand her wanting to make up the rehearsal time, the corps does need work, but something is wrong with Madame Giry. She has not been herself since Adrienne Leveau died. You should have seen her at the funeral. She was so pale and drawn, I thought she was going to pass out at any moment."

"It could just be the stress, you know. She has never had pressure like this before," he countered softly.

"But Erik, she has been a ballet mistress for years. Performing has made up the greater part of her life. It is something else. I think you should talk with her," Gia said thoughtfully as she ran a hand through his hair.

"Antoinette has not confided in me in quite some time, Gia. She might rather speak to you."

"You are her oldest friend here, and you are both of an age. I have known the woman little more than a month!"

He sighed and kissed her softly on the lips. "If you insist, my darling. You know, you really should have become a lawyer or a politician the way you argue," he teased. At that, Gia gave him a hard shove on his shoulder which knocked him out of the small bed they had been sharing. He landed squarely on his ass and Gia laughed at his ridiculousness. He then clambered back into the bed and proceeded to tickle her until she squealed for him to stop.

He kissed her again, this time hard, not wanting to be gentle, and she responded in turn, her tongue seeking out his. Her hands drifted down from clutching his shirt at the shoulders to cupping his rear, but Erik's primal moan brought them back to earth.

"I'm sorry, I should not be teasing you like this," she apologized, her eyes looking quite guilty.

He instantly forgave her. "How much longer?" he asked, hoping he didn't offend her or sound overly eager.

"Tomorrow," she yawned sleepily, as she closed her eyes.

Erik did not fall asleep right away. Tomorrow they would go down to his home, and he wanted everything to be perfect for her. He mentally composed a list of chores that had to be done, only once that was completed, did he let sleep overtake him.

* * *

A sweat soaked and somewhat exhausted Gia entered her room early Sunday evening to find Erik waiting for her rather expectantly. He practically shot out of the chair to greet her. It was only when he got close that he could see and smell the perspiration, the tiny rivulets pooling into different parts of her practice uniform. A night of passion just might be the last thing on her mind. He would be disappointed, but there was always tomorrow he reminded himself. 

"Gia, if you are too tired, we can simply stay here. I do not want to rush you into anything," he said most solicitously, but he was unable to disguise his hopefulness that she would want to accompany him this evening.

Sometimes Erik could be as transparent as a child, and that made Gia smile for the first time all day. Madame Giry had been merciless this afternoon, and no one had escaped her scorn. Even Meg and Gia were castigated for one minor error after another. At one point she had even threatened to keep them up all night if they could not execute the movements properly. During one short break Meg told Gia that being at home with her mother was fast becoming unbearable. She even asked if it would possible for her to use Gia's room at night if she and Erik were not using it. Gia had promised she would mention it to Erik, and relief had washed over young ballerina. But that could wait until later.

Gia continued to smile at Erik, not allowing the unpleasant thought mar her sunny expression. "Erik, of course I want to come with you tonight! I've been looking forward to this. I just want to get out of this thing and clean myself up a bit," she said as she made her way behind her privacy screen. She quickly sponged off with the room temperature water, and put on the red nightdress and wrapper that Erik had given to her. Since her skin was slightly damp, it clung to her, and when she stepped around the screen, Erik's eyes immediately darkened.

Her hair was still up, and Erik walked over to her and pulled the pins out, watching the curling locks tumble down past her shoulders. "When do I have to let you go?" he breathed into her ear, communicating his desire to hold on to her as long as possible.

"Practice as usual tomorrow," she sighed. Gia had been hoping Madame Giry would grant the corps something of a reprieve, but she had not. Erik looked quite put out, and grabbed her practice dress, draping it over one arm so she would have it to change into tomorrow. He then held out his hand, and Gia took it without a moment's hesitation.

They had little to say to each other on the trip, both of them thinking about what was going to happen once they reached the lair. Gia could practically feel his hands on her bare skin, and it was making her breasts feel tight with the anticipation. For his part, Erik was simply anxious about what Gia would say when they arrived.

As the boat drew near, at first it looked to be the same place it had always been. But once the reached the bank, it was obvious Erik had been busy preparing for her arrival. All of the candles were lit, giving the entire chamber a warm glow. He had done a bit of tidying up. No longer were there sheets of music and books everywhere, but they were placed into neat piles. His desk was clear except for a quill pen and pot of ink. He had even set up a small table with two chairs on which sat a vase with a single red rose, and dinner for the two of them. Gia's eyes widened when she took in the largest change of all: all of the drawings of Christine were gone. The walls looked strangely bare without them.

"Erik, you did not have to put those away for me. I know you treasure your memories of her."

He looked at Gia, and he took of his mask so she could see his entire face when he spoke to her. "I do not need them anymore."

There was so much warmth, sincerity, and relief in his voice. It was as if Erik was emerging from an emotional prison where he had been his own jailor. It thrilled Gia to her fingertips that Erik had placed Christine so squarely into the past, and they had barely gotten out of the boat when she threw her arms around his neck, and wantonly whispered into his ear, "Make love to me, Erik. Now," as she ground against him.

"Don't you want to have something to eat? You must be starving," he said, trying to keep his voice even, ignoring the sensations she was creating with every move of her body.

"I'm not hungry for food," she purred, her voice filled with promise. Erik needed no more encouragement, he scooped her up and carried her to their bedroom, setting her down on the bed. Gia began to untie the wrap but he stopped her. "I want to do it," his voice deepening with want.

Erik made short work of his clothing, tossing it aside and not caring if it got dirty or wrinkled. He had not had the pleasure of her body for nearly a week, and it seemed she was as hot for him as he was for her. Gia was reclining on the duvet, the red of her nightgown and wrap matched it nearly exactly. She was watching him strip, her eyes burning hotly into his chest and then traveling down his body to his cock. There was no false modesty here. He found himself amazed that a woman could be as hot to fuck as a man. He'd assumed that women somehow were above such rampant urges. He knew they felt desire, but she was nearly licking her lips in anticipation of him.

Once he was nude he joined her on the bed, and she immediately melted into his embrace. He pawed at her breasts, crushing them, not being the least bit gentle, and she shuddered with unfeigned pleasure. Laying her back, he pushed her arms over her head and slid the wrapper and nightgown off. He was pleased she wore nothing underneath them.

The moment his bare hands made contact with her skin she arched beneath him and moaned, "Oh yes Erik, touch me. Please! I've been dreaming of you touching me for days."

His lips twitched into a grin as he brought his hands up to roll the engorged tips of her breasts between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth was on her neck, biting at her pulse point, and sucked hard just as he had done that night in the practice room. She screamed his name raked his back with her nails.

He took her mouth in a deep kiss, sucking her tongue deep into his mouth. He slid a hand between them and found her impossibly wet for him. He gave her one finger for added pressure and stimulation and she quickly came with a soft cry.

Erik was surprised she reached orgasm so quickly, and he rolled off of her, reaching for the tin that contained the French letters. He knew there was little risk of pregnancy, but now was not the time to become sloppy.

"You were certainly eager for that, my dear."

"Oh God, yes!" her voice still dripping with lust. "One night I even thought about touching myself I wanted you so much. It was just after Adrienne died," she clarified. "You must find me terribly wicked to talk of doing such a thing."

He sat back, the condom still in his hand, and looked at her seriously. "Gia, I don't think it's wicked at all. Men do it all the time."

"But it is forbidden! A terrible sin!" she cried, honestly shocked that people could do such a thing.

"It is not a sin. What do you think I did before you? I am a man, Gia. You cannot actually believe I did not ever give myself release when I needed it? I truly would have gone insane if I didn't," he said with a laugh.

Gia seriously considered his words. It did make sense, she supposed. She opened her arms, willing him to come back to her, but he sat unmoved, just looking at her for a moment. Then he spoke, saying something that sent tiny shockwaves throughout her body. "Touch yourself. Touch yourself for me, Gia."

For a moment she supposed he could not possibly be in earnest, but when he made no move to touch her, she found her voice. "I, I don't know what to do! Why would you ever want to watch such a thing?" her voice rising in pitch steadily.

"Pretend your hands are my hands, Gia. You know where you like to be touched. Show me, and I will show you."

With great trepidation, she lay back, her hands suddenly feeling cold. She kept her eyes locked on his, and using her left hand she feathered the tip of her nipple. But she needed more stimulation, so she pinched it firmly, and a small moan of pleasure escaped her lips. Erik watched as her eyes snapped shut, and her right hand joined in, disappearing between her legs. It was perhaps the most arousing sight he had ever beheld. She was writhing now, panting out his name as her hips bucked, bringing her ever closer to the edge. He found he could not stand just to watch her, and he let out a low groan, taking himself into his hand, stroking himself in time with her.

The sound of Erik's groan caused Gia to open her eyes, and she saw him, his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping, his hips jerking forward with each stroke. He looked so, so _beautiful_ was the only word she could think of at that moment. He was so intently staring at her, watching every move she made, and the knowledge he could not watch her without touching himself was intensely powerful. The chords along his neck were visible and he was gritting his teeth, breathing heavily. He had to be close.

"Inside me, Erik. I want you to come inside me," she entreated him, her eyes not leaving his, even as she continued to touch herself. He had waited for this moment for days, and he fell forward, grabbing her hands, pinning them over her head. It only took a moment for him to find her entrance, and he plunged in, her hips rising to meet his. "You are so wet and tight, I cannot get enough of you!" he exclaimed, as he released her arms so she could touch him again.

He was pounding into her, and all he could think of was that if Satan presented himself and offered him one thing in exchange for his soul, Erik would have gladly given it up if it would mean he could make love to Gia for eternity. When she was not making sweet noises of desire, her mouth was caressing the right side of face, kissing it. Her hands were seemingly everywhere at once, but they were not gentle. She was making him almost frantic, and when he heard her actually moan into his ear, "Fuck me harder, Erik! I want it all, give me everything you have!" he nearly came.

All pretense of making love to each other gone, he did as she asked, and was greeted with a high keen of pleasure as she orgasmed, reaching a plateau that she had never imagined was possible. He was not far behind her, and he clung to her as the final spasms overtook him. It was only when he withdrew from her that he realized he had neglected to use the French letter. He thought he cursed himself silently, but she must have heard, because he heard her murmur she did not care.

Instead of feeling drained from the experience, Erik felt energized, and he got up from the bed promising to return quickly. He was true to his word, and he returned bearing a plateful of food for them to enjoy.

"Erik, we are going to get crumbs in your bed!" she chided him. He pressed a strawberry to her lips and she took a bite, the juice staining her lips. They ate the bread, cheese, and fruit and he marveled at how relaxed they had become around each other. Naked as the day they had been born, they simply talked, Gia telling him of Madame Giry's continued odd behavior. If even Meg could not stand to be around her mother, there must be something wrong. Now was not the time for his old friend to come apart at the seams.

Was it possible she was suspicious that he had killed Adrienne and that was eating her from the inside? He would have to find a way to talk to her tomorrow. He also wanted to speak to her about giving Gia at least part of a day off if it was possible. She had been working so hard the past two weeks, he could see subtle changes to her body. Her arms and stomach were firmer, but she still possessed the curves that mesmerized him. When she had wrapped her legs around him, they were more powerful than he remembered.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"I was just thinking about how you have changed since rehearsals began. You are more desirable than ever. In fact," he said, laying the tray aside, "I think I am ready to have you again." He brushed his fingers along her waist lightly, and Gia reacted by placing her hands against his chest, resting on either side of his heart before she leaned in to kiss him gently on the mouth.

This coupling had all the gentleness the previous one had lacked. In the afterglow, he pledged himself to her, saying she had become his muse, his reason for being. Gia kissed the center of his forehead and told him he was equally important to her.

It only seemed natural for him to say to her, "Will you marry me? I do not have a ring to give you, but say you will be mine forever."

Tears of joy in her eyes, she said the words he never thought to hear, "Erik, I would be honored to be your wife. I do not care about anything else."

"You would live with me here?" She nodded in the affirmative. He gave her a wide smile, throwing his head back, ecstatic in a way she had never seen before. He was positively giddy. "I shall make all the arrangements then."

His mood was infectious and she could not suppress her joy at the thought of being married to him. "When?" she asked hopefully.

"As soon as I can make things perfect for us. I must settle a few things, but I promise you, we shall be married soon." She accepted all of this with a smile, and he could tell she was already picturing herself in a wedding gown standing before an altar reciting the ancient vows. He would give her that. But first he had to settle things between him, Christine, and a certain viscomte. In the morning, he would write them both.


	38. 38

**A/N: This update took a while since I have been working on an application to take the bar exam this July. My classes begin at the start of next month, which means I will have less time to write. However, I promise you all the end is in sight. Please read and let me know what you all think.**

* * *

Gia was disappointed to find Erik was not in bed with her when she awoke in the morning. He could have been up for long though, as the side of the bed he had slept on was still faintly warm from his presence. Impulsively she crushed the pillow he had slept on to her face, inhaling the scent of him. It was spicy and smoky and so very Erik. She perked up her ears, expecting to hear him playing, but the chamber was oddly silent. She quickly changed into the practice uniform that he had laid out for her, and she noted that her somewhat tattered skirt had been mended in places. He was so good to her.

She found him hunched over his desk busily scribbling, but in front of him were not the usual pages of music, but in their place his stationary. He had already completed one letter, and she picked it up to see to whom it was addressed. She could feel his eyes on her as she read the envelope. It read: "To the Monsieur and Madame le Viscomte de Chagny". She dropped the letter as though it were a hot teakettle, and it made a soft papery sound as it hit the desk.

Erik could she was stunned and a million questions as well as concern were etched on her face. "Gia, please don't be angry with me. I want them to know I am to be married. I dare say it will come as something of a relief to Christine."

"But both of them, Erik?" she asked. "Her husband could still make trouble for us."

"My dear, if he is half as in love with Christine as I once was, and you have assured me he is, I believe she will be able to convince him he has nothing to fear from me. Perhaps they will even want to attend the wedding," he teased. "Unless you are having second thoughts on that score?"

Her blinding smile was all the answer he needed. She looked so radiant standing there, honestly enraptured by the thought of becoming his bride. "Who is that note for, Erik?"

"To Dupoix. My salary is coming due. He might need a reminder." He did not mention that the note contained another much more personal request. He wanted that to be surprise for her.

"Erik, you cannot take money from him any longer! The poor man has had quite enough to deal with in the past week to be concerned with scrounging up money to pay you. Any more stress might be the death of him. You really can be quite a beast sometimes!" she said, but her voice was light and full of happiness.

At her remark Erik let out a low growl and launched himself across the desk to capture her in his arms and kiss her soundly. "You wouldn't have me any other way, my love. Or do I have to remind you about how we spent last night?" His mouth trailed down her neck and he buried it just behind her right ear.

"Erik, you make me want you! And there is simply no time for that now," she said protesting feebly. "Besides, we should probably refrain from this sort of thing until we are married. It will make our wedding night more exciting, don't you think?"

"I am afraid, my dear, if our sex life becomes much more exciting we will spontaneously combust one of these nights. Therefore, it would be most unwise. You are too delicious in that outfit for me to keep my hands off you anyway." To punctuate his words, he licked her ear and he could feel her tremble. He knew she would let him have her if he pressed the matter, but she was correct that there was no time to do things properly.

He much preferred to take his time with her, savoring their encounters, slowly making her mad with desire for him. She was just so responsive to his touch. Why after so many years of unending solitude had God seen fit to send him this woman? Had it all been some sort of bizarre penance? Taking control of the situation, he turned her about to kiss her once more, but he kept the kiss a relatively chaste one on the lips.

"We should be going. I would not want you to get in trouble with Antoinette for being late."

Gia signaled her agreement with a single nod then dashed back to their bedroom to fetch her slippers. They linked hands and went to the boat. As he pushed away from the bank she asked him, "Are you going to speak with Madame Giry today?"

"I hope to speak with her during the break for lunch but much will depend on whether I can speak to her without us being overheard. But I shall try," he promised. They made their way into the passages near the practice rooms, and Gia was surprised when he pressed the letter for the viscomte and viscomtess into her hand.

"You are not coming to rehearsal?" she inquired, disappointed he would not be observing her from afar. That had been a strange comfort the last few days. Just knowing he was there helped settle her nerves.

He smirked, "Don't fret, I shall be along this afternoon. I have to make some arrangements for us, unless you prefer to be wed without a proper wedding gown or a priest. Will you see the letter is posted properly?"

She planted a quick kiss on his mask, and gave him a coy wave goodbye. Once she had gone, he made his way out onto the streets of Paris, mentally going over what had to be done. The most daunting would be speaking to the priest. He had overheard the old priest at St. Etienne's volunteer to marry them, but what would the man say when he caught a glimpse of Gia's perspective bridegroom? And then there was the issue of his name. Or rather, his lack of one. It had never really been something that had overly concerned him, but the fact he did not have a surname to give to Gia was something he regretted. If he hurried he would probably be able to catch the man after he said the morning Mass. Erik increased his pace, his strides increasing as he made the turn toward the church.

The morning Mass was just ending, and Erik found himself moving against the traffic of people coming down the steps. A few of them cast odd looks his way, most of them not in disgust, but normal curiosity. Who was this man striding so purposefully up the steps, almost as though the devil was on his heels, yet he could not be bothered to attend Mass? Erik could swear he could almost hear the old women tut-tutting under their breaths. He ignored them, simply wishing to have this over and done with.

The nave of the church was deserted and silent, and Erik would himself at a loss of what to do next. He plopped himself down into a pew and waited, figuring eventually something would come to him. He did not have to wait long. From the front of the church he heard the shuffling steps of the old priest, he was carrying long handled device used for putting out candles. The old man was busily going about his business, and did not seem to notice Erik sitting there. Oh well, the man was probably blind as a bat anyway.

Nervously Erik approached the priest. He did not want to scare the man into a fit, so he did not attempt to move silently as was his custom. The noise did get the priest's attention, who to his credit, did not look the least bit startled by Erik or his appearance. It was almost as if he had been expecting him.

"May I help you, my son?" he inquired in a kindly, understanding voice, free from rancor, as though the man was completely at peace with the universe.

"Father I am here because I have recently become engaged to one of your parishioners. I would like to arrange for a wedding," he stated simply, hoping he did not sound as edgy as he felt. His hands felt suddenly overheated in their leather confinement.

A toothy grin broke out across the man's face, and he reached out to shake Erik's hand. "How marvelous! And who is the lucky lady, may I ask? Is this to be a large affair or just something small?"

What sort of man was this? Did he not notice that he was standing before him wearing a white mask covering half his face? The man acted as though this was somehow a regular occurrence. "The woman is Gianna Burnside, from the Metropolitan Opera. For rather obvious reasons, Father I do not imagine there will be many attendees. I doubt there will even be any witnesses save yourself," he replied coldly.

The priest arched his eyebrows and looked the gentleman over. He was certainly well turned out, despite the mask. The clothes were expensive looking. Gia had done quite well for herself, indeed. "So you are the man she came to speak to me about! Glad to see you are going to make an honest woman of her. I have seen many a young lady come in here over the years to fret over some young man, and I could tell the moment I saw her, the child was in love. But you know that don't you?"

"I do, Father."

"I must say though, I am a bit puzzled that you wish to keep the ceremony private. I would think Dupoix would at least want to be present to give the bride away. She has been like a daughter to him. Or is there perhaps a more pressing reason for this marriage?" he asked archly.

Good Lord, the old priest was nosy! "No Father, there is no immediate need for marriage, other than the fact we are very much in love and I know she will want to formalize our union. It will make her happy."

"I take it then you have little use for marriage?"

Erik answered the man honestly, "Father, I have little use for religion or its trappings. I would just as soon go before a magistrate, but Gia grew up with the Church. I cannot deny her this."

"You are wise to want to please her, young man. Now will you tell me your name so I may properly address you?" he asked with a smile.

"That, Father, is another concern. I do not have a proper surname. Erik is the only name I have ever known," he answered sheepishly.

"I must say, that is a bit irregular, particularly since I need your full names to record in the parish register once the date for the ceremony is set. Perhaps you both can choose one together. Just think, you can start your lives together with new names! How romantic!" the man positively cooed.

Erik had not considered that. It did seem fitting. "I shall have to mention that to Gia, Father. I thank you for your suggestion."

"And when will the blessed day be? "

"I have only promised her that we will be married soon. However, considering she is busy with rehearsals and then there will be an entire weekend of performances, I believe the soonest would be on Wednesday two weeks from now."

"Fine then, Monsieur Erik! I look forward to getting a confirmation from you," he said as he pumped his hand rather enthusiastically. The priest noticed the man's obvious discomfort, and added, "Monsieur, you should not be so concerned with your appearance. To God, we are all beautiful. Do not allow your self-hatred to poison your mind. Most people have seen far more ugly sights that you in that mask."

The priest excused himself before Erik could muster a response, and he found himself alone again. The silence was disturbing. From a large cross at the front of the church, the crucified Christ looked down at Erik, his face serene, not betraying the suffering he must have endured at the hands of the Roman centurions. Regret for his past actions filled his soul, and for the first time he felt the need to unburden himself. Unbidden Erik fell to his knees, and clasped his hands together, his heartfelt prayer only two words, "Forgive me."

* * *

Before he could return to the Metropolitan, Erik made another stop, this one to the couturier Madame Collette. The woman had balked when he said he needed a wedding gown made to fit the same woman he had requested other garments recently for in two weeks. He was not sure if she was more concerned about the fact this was the second wedding gown he had requested in a little over two years or that he was giving her so little time to complete it. He had promised to pay her whatever it took, and told her he would be back to consult with her on a design. At that the woman had given an imperious sniff and nearly thrown him out of her office. It was only when he threw down a packet of 100 franc notes that she was mollified.

There was no time for him to visit a jeweler if he was to speak with Antoinette, but he reminded himself that would have to be his next errand. Gia should have an engagement ring, although he doubted she would not wear it in public. He kept his pace brisk as he made his way to a side entrance of the Metropolitan. Once inside he deposited his note for Dupoix on top of his mail. Thank goodness he had not forgotten those slight of hand tricks! He had palmed the letter while Gia had admonished him for his treatment of the theater manager. The note was not sealed, but it would convey his message adequately.

Stealing back stage he waited for the rehearsal to end. Most of the dancers were milling about as from the sound of things they were in the middle of the first act of _Giselle_. He saw Gia out of the corner of his eye. She was standing in the wings, her eyes fixed on the stage. He knew that in heart of hearts she would have liked to play the title role, but even he had known that was impossible. Her back was to him, but he could picture her eyes, seeing and yet not; inserting herself in Meg's place.

"No, no Meg," came a cry from in front of the stage. "You must concentrate more, girl! Remember it is not only the steps that are important but you must convey Giselle's emotions as well. You are giving the audience nothing!"

It would seem that Gia was correct. Something was bothering Antoinette, and it was more than the woeful dancing of her daughter. There was more than frustration in her voice. It contained a certain hollowness, a distance, that reeked of something terrible lurking beneath the surface. She sounded like he had two years ago when he had descended on the masked ball to taunt the managers and discovered Christine's secret engagement.

The orchestra had stopped playing and he could hear the noises of people hurriedly quitting the theater, anxious to escape the voluble ballet mistress. He heard two sets of footsteps coming toward him, and he would recognize them anywhere. One was the light footfalls of Meg, the other were the steady clicks of Antoinette's boots. She was tearing into her daughter, criticizing everything from her dreadful technique and lack of turn-out and blaming her distractions on the boy she had been seeing.

"You are seeing too much of that boy! I see the way he looks at you, Marguerite Giry! Have you let him lift your skirts yet? You are no better than those girls chasing after any man who will have them!" Erik could hear the young girl sobbing, and then she ran off.

"Is that really necessary, Antoinette? The girl is your daughter, for heaven's sake!" he said as he emerged from the long shadows.

Madame Giry was oddly startled to see him. She usually felt his presence when he was near, but had thought she was alone. But she found her voice quickly. "Would you have me coddle the girl then? We open in less than two weeks and she is not ready. If you have been watching the rehearsals you know that. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Erik?"

He took stock of Antoinette. Her outward appearance was as impeccable as ever. Not a hair was out of place in her elaborate hairstyle, but her eyes betrayed her. They were wild, blood-shot, and darting. She gripped her cane just a little too tightly.

"Gia is worried about you. She asked that I speak to you. And having seen you for myself, I would have to agree with her. What the devil is wrong with you, woman? You look like hell."

"It is the ballet. It is not going as I had hoped," she said by way of a response. It was a pathetic attempt at a lie, but she made it nonetheless.

"Come now, Antoinette, we have known each other for years. There is something greater bothering you than the progress of your dancers. From what I have seen things are going well."

"That is because you only have eyes for Mademoiselle Burnside. Your love for her blinds you. You have a tendency to allow that to happen," she replied, knowing it would rile his temper. She didn't even care anymore.

Why was she baiting him? If she wanted to play things this way, he would let her. He let the anger rise up, and took her by the shoulders giving her a sharp shake. "Do not speak of her that way! She is to be my bride, Antoinette. My bride!" He gave her another shake and she simply took it, moving limply back and forth. He let go of her, it was futile to try to get anything out of her. There was no fight in her. He turned to leave, but Antoinette spoke.

"Congratulations, Erik. I am happy. For you both." Her voice was soft and almost wistful. He turned to look at her and her eyes were wet with tears. He had not seen her cry in a long time. The last time had been not long after her husband had died. She had been nearly despondent then, but she had maintained her dignity, refusing to allow him to comfort her. She had only accepted a handkerchief that he proffered to dry her tears.

He asked her again, "Tell me what is wrong, Antoinette. Something is weighing on your soul. I am the one person here who knows what is like. Whatever it is you must share it with someone. It will kill you if you go on like this."

He was right. It was killing her. She could barely sleep or eat anything. If it had not been for her work, she would have gone mad. There were times when she was not sure if she was even sane any longer. Everything seemed to irritate her and yet she felt so little. Last night after Meg had fallen asleep she had jabbed a needle into her inner thigh just to feel something. She had welcomed the pain.

She was happy that Erik and Gia were to be married. At least it had not all been in vain. They deserved their happiness. But he was looking at her with those pleading eyes of his, and that broke her. She wanted to sob, but it came out almost like a cackle. The tears were on her face, but she felt something unwind inside her. "I did it you know. I killed that bitch Adrienne. I went into her room, and I pressed a pillow to her face, and then I just walked away. It wasn't the least bit hard. The next morning I got rid of the pillow. Aren't I clever. Erik?"

He looked at Antoinette with growing horror. She had killed Adrienne and it was slowly making her insane. She was starting to lose her grip on reality. He knew the feeling all too well. There was no need for him to ask her why she did it, her lips were moving in a constantly litany, repeating the same thing over and over, "I did it for you, Erik, I did it for you. Must save Erik." Oh God what had he done to her? What could he say to her though? He had killed when he had thought people were expendable. What right did he have to make any sort of moral judgment on her? But someone had to snap her out of this.

"Antoinette Giry," he roared, "You will pull yourself together this instant! You should not have done that. I did not need you to clean up after the mess I made. Your intentions were good, your heart in the right place, but you took a life! Not an innocent one, but you took it, and you must live with it!"

She ceased her ravings, and stared him. It was not the reaction she had expected. But she felt better. She had felt like the cork on a bottle of champagne that had been shaken, the pressure building up behind here with nowhere to release. Now after the explosion, the foam was fading and she was beginning to feel like her old self. She swallowed hard, "Thank you, Erik. I needed that."

"You did. I know there is little I can say to comfort you, but I will not let you fall apart. Meg needs you. This damn place needs you. Hell, I need you! What will I do without you to instruct me on how to be a proper husband?"

This brought a small smile to her lips, the first she had been able to muster in days. "Very funny, Erik. From what I have heard from Mlle. Burnside, you need little in the way of instruction from me on how to be a husband. She seems quite satisfied," she returned, not bothering to conceal the double meaning inherent in the last sentence.

"Good. That is the Madame Giry I know. You have not completely lost your rapier wit. Now I must go, I have another errand I should run before I watch the afternoon rehearsal." He was going to leave, but before he did, he asked her, "Will you be all right, Antoinette?"

"I do not know, Erik. I do not know if I can ever be all right again."

"Then you are moving in the right direction. It is when you feel nothing that there is reason to despair."

She watched him leave her, and she was struck at how much more control he seemed to have. He had shouted at her, but he had been concerned about her, and it had not been for completely selfish reasons. Erik had put his needs and desires first, even when it had come to Christine. He was beginning to open up and see that there was world outside of his own. She prayed that Erik and Gia would be able to marry and make a life for themselves. But did he really expect her to live her life in darkness with him? Antoinette prayed that he would realize that neither of them deserved to be condemned to a life alone, with only each other for solace.


	39. 39

**A/N: I had this done yesterday, but I wasn't able to post it. I've started work on the next chapter, but I just ask for patience since I'm beginning bar review courses. I'm going to try to write in the evenings though. Please read and review!They will be a nice change of reading from bar exam materials.**

* * *

Michel Dupoix looked at the note before him with great trepidation. Although it was not sealed in the usual way, at this point he could recognize the sender by the script on the letter. It would seem that the Opera Ghost had more demands of him. He was certain the masked man must have had some hand in the death of Adrienne Leveau, no matter what that physician had said. He was not nearly as foolish as that girl had been. He would keep his mouth shut, he had his family and his business to protect.

What could the man want now? An increase in pay, perhaps? He hoped not. The production of _Giselle_ was costing a small fortune in new sets and costumes. Thank God the ballet was still immensely popular. Advance ticket sales had been excellent, but if the production was savaged by the critics, people would not attend the remaining performances, leaving the theater in debt. He had always prided himself in never running the Metropolitan without making a profit for its patrons. This production was turning into quite the professional test for him. And now he had to fret over the homicidal maniac who made this place his home!

He drew the letter out of the envelope and laid it out on his desk, not opening it just yet. Dupoix stared at it, almost as if he concentrated hard enough it would disappear. Wishing would not make it so, and he unfolded the note, closing his eyes for a moment before he read it.

_Dear Monsieur Dupoix,_

_This note is simply a quick reminder that my usual salary will be due soon, and that I expect the payment to be on schedule. However, you will not present the money to Mademoiselle Burnside. Instead, leave the money in a satchel in your office. I will retrieve it at my convenience. _

_I do have a personal request of you, my dear manager, and I sincerely hope you will be able to accommodate me. I would like to reserve the best box available for the opening performance of _Giselle_. You may deduct the cost of the box from my salary. Enclose the tickets with the money. I expect to be able to have both before the week is out._

_I am, your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

Dupoix put the letter back on the desk. He had guessed that the money he was paying as extortion would be a topic of conversation in the note. He even had to grudgingly admit, it made sense that he would prefer to collect the money himself than have it pass through the hands of another. It would seem the Phantom now preferred to leave Gianna out of his schemes. The tickets to the opening gala would be slightly more difficult to manage, however.

As the manager, he was entitled to the best box in the theater. Occasionally he gave up the box for dignitaries, but he always attended the opening performances. His wife was so excited about the ballet that he had promised her they would attend the performance together. The opposite box with the same view as his was already spoken for. Dupoix had set the tickets for that box aside for the Viscomte de Chagny and his wife. Looking at the letter again, he noticed that the request was for the "best available box". The mysterious ghost would simply have to make due with what was still available.

He made a quick trip to the box office, and learned that by coincidence the box next to the de Chagny's was available. The family that regularly sat there was currently away on holiday and had left instructions that the seats could be sold to anyone who could afford them. Dupoix was a bit astonished that the Phantom was actually willing to pay for a seat to the ballet, but he was not about to question the outrageous whims of a man who had dropped a chandelier into a crowded opera house. He would, however, enclose a note of his own, explaining why this was the best available seat. Dupoix had learned over the years the importance of the ability to make excuses, particularly when one was dealing with the possibility of a dissatisfied customer.

He would contact the bankers in the morning about the salary.

* * *

Erik found himself standing outside the small jewelry shop, nearly paralyzed with anxiety. He knew next to nothing about what sort ring he should procure for Gia. The only engagement ring he had any familiarity with lay in the drawer of his desk, and he was not about to be so crass as to get Gia a ring that looked like that. The ring should be unique and beautiful, a testament to his love for her. But it would be difficult to surpass the ring Raoul had given Christine. For all Erik had scoffed at the boy viscomte, he would allow the boy had selected a beautiful piece of jewelry to give to his beloved. The ring had been entirely composed of diamonds; one large oval cut one at the center, surrounded by a myriad of round cut stones.

He must look incredibly foolish loitering in front of the shop window. Putting his silly fears behind him, he pushed open the door which jangled pleasantly at his entrance. Standing behind the counter was a pretty young woman who could not have been more than twenty. She gave him a wide smile, and immediately inquired if he needed any assistance.

"I am looking to purchase a ring for a lady," was his response. He still found it strange speaking with people in public. He was always trying to determine if they were in someway making judgments of him based on his appearance, which made it impossible for him to relax. The girl guided him over to case filled with rings of varying stones all with one thing in common, the settings were quite large, and dare he say, gaudy. They looked like something a gentleman might present to a mistress, not something one gives to an expectant bride.

The shopgirl looked at the scowl on the gentleman's face, and she quickly realized she had made a mistake. "I apologize Monsieur, but you did not say what sort of lady you were looking to purchase a ring for. Is the ring for your wife?"

"The lady has consented to marry me, but I did not have a ring to give her at the time, and I am looking to remedy the situation," he said somewhat exasperated. He would never understand how women could get such perverse pleasure from shopping. Although he was most careful in his manner of dress, he had never particularly enjoyed his visits to the tailor. He simply told the bespectacled man what he wanted and it was produced for him.

"Well then, I think you will find the rings in this case a bit more to your liking," she said, guiding him to another case. Once again, the rings were of different stones, but these were much more tasteful. The gems appeared to be of higher quality even though they were smaller in size. But how the hell was he supposed to choose from amongst all of them? Maybe he should just have Gia pick something for herself.

Marie could see frustration on the poor man's face. He obviously had no experience buying jewelry, which seemed odd given the face he looked to be wealthy and rather handsome. Surely this green-eyed stranger had a mistress at some point. "If you tell me a bit about the lady, mayhap I can help you with your selection. An engagement ring should reflect the woman that will wear it."

"She has the kindest, most understanding heart of any woman I have ever known. When I am with her I am completely at peace with myself. I do not know what I have done to possibly deserve her," he said passionately to the girl who was a complete unknown to him. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached inside the case and drew out a single ring.

It was exquisite in its simplicity. The band was plain and silver in color, with a single round cut diamond at the center. The stone seemed to burn with an inner fire, and the facets cast tiny rainbows across the counter. It was not flashy, but still elegant and beautiful, exactly like Gia. He told the girl it was perfect and he did his best not flinch when she told him the price.

"Monsieur, I know its rather expensive, but it truly a ring to last a lifetime. The setting is platinum and will wear much better than gold. And I think the color sets off the stone much better. It allows for the purity of the stone to speak for itself," she said, not even having to draw on her considerable sales skills as she described the attributes of the ring.

"It is your favorite ring in this place, then," said Erik intuitively. She shyly nodded, slightly embarrassed that the gentleman saw through her so quickly. "I shall take it. Only the best will do."

"Your lady is most fortunate to have found such an excellent gentleman of wealth and taste willing to marry her," she said, her tone light as she boxed up the ring. She placed the ring on the counter and Erik carefully counted out the notes to pay for the ring. As he slid them toward the girl, her fingers deliberately brushed against his and their eyes made contact for a long moment. Her dark eyes were hot upon his. What was this girl playing at?

With his other hand he pocketed the ring, and swept out the door, his cape swinging behind him. He could never recall a woman reacting to him like that so strongly. He had seduced Christine over time with his voice, and even Gia had not liked him at first. But that slip of a girl back in the shop had wanted him even as he stood there buying a ring for another woman. He was aware he cut a fine figure in his expensive wardrobe but he had always assumed the mask branded him as one of the untouchables of society. On the trip back to the opera house he began to believe that perhaps Gia had not been wrong when she told him there was no need for him to live underground as he did.

Furthermore, the idea of depriving Gia of sunlight for most of her natural life seemed unnecessarily cruel. He had lived two years among people and it had not been easy for him. There had been a couple of occasions he left his hotel rooms unused because he preferred to find a hovel to sleep in. They had been familiar, whereas the sumptuous bedrooms with the most modern luxuries available had felt foreign to him. He did not feel as though he deserved them.

His circumstances were not the same any longer. She had freely agreed to follow wherever life took them. He snorted derisively, recalling the words of that damned song that Christine and the boy had sung as they initially pledged their love. He could not ask Gia to make such a sacrifice for him. Together, they might make a new life for themselves. He only trusted her to guide him through the challenges of everyday living that he had never learned. But for that to happen, it would likely mean abandoning Paris. It would mean Gia leaving her comfort zone and the place that had been her home for more than two decades. Erik was not certain he could ask that of her.

He entered the theater not long after the rehearsal had gotten underway. Unfortunately, Madame Giry was focusing on the first act, which meant that Gia was nowhere to be seen. She might be in the wings somewhere, or there was the possibility she was having a costume fitting. He was quite interested in seeing what her costume looked like and what she looked like in it. He could always liberate it from the seamstress's workshop so that Gia could model it for him, he thought with a grin. With that thought he settled back into the velvet covered seat and watched the sight before him.

Meg was dancing the role of the naïve coquette quite admirably, toying with the affections of her suitors. Jean Paul and Georges were doing their best to look completely enthralled with her and succeeding to various degrees. All too often Jean Paul looked more constipated than in love, but Georges seemed to have perfected the goggle eyed stare of a man hopelessly snared in the net of a woman. Erik hoped he did not look like that. But other than that, the _pas de trois_ was quite flawless. Antoinette had quite out done herself with the choreography, and the dancers had risen to the occasion. For the rest of the rehearsal he allowed himself to be transported to the tiny Silesian town in the ballet. And when Meg's Giselle became unhinged when she discovered her would be lover had deceived her and thrust herself onto his sword, he could feel hot tears staining his left cheek.

There was a smattering of applause from the dancers waiting in the wings, and even Madame Giry appeared to be pleased, giving a rare nod to Meg and the two gentlemen. They took their bows, and the rehearsal was concluded for the day for the dancers. Erik heard Reyer inform the orchestra they were staying to work on some areas he was displeased with. But he did not want to linger, as he wanted to meet Gia in her room.

Gia actually reached her chamber before he did. Madame Giry had spent nearly the entire day on the first act, leaving Gia little to do except observe. She was filled with energy, and raced back to her room. She had become so used to finding him waiting in her chair for her that when she found he was not there, she sat down on her bed heavily like a petulant child, crossing her arms across her chest. It was as she reached down to undo the ribbons of her toe shoes that she heard him coming through the wardrobe.

He immediately went to the bed and gave her a kiss on the cheek and inquired how her day had been. "Not particularly interesting, really. I didn't do much dancing outside of warm ups, although I did practice a bit on my own backstage since I hate standing idle too long. And what were you up this afternoon? I must thank you for speaking to Madame Giry this afternoon. She seems to be in much better spirits now. I'm sure the entire company would thank you for your intervention. Perhaps now Meg will not be clamoring to use my room in the evenings."

He sat down on the bed next to her, the ring feeling suddenly like a heavy weight. He was sot sure how he should present it to her. She had already consented to marrying him, and while tradition demanded he get down on one knee, it was all rather foolish to him. But he knew for all of Gia's practicality, she clung to some of her childhood fantasies, and he felt uneasy that he might ruin the moment. "Let's see, I spent much of the day trying to get our wedding arranged. I even spoke to that busybody priest Lessard. The man seemed rather surprised that we would be having a private ceremony. Really my dear, I was not aware the man was not in full command of his senses."

"Oh Erik, he's just a sentimental old man! I've known him my entire life. You can't know how much it means to me that he will marry us. Did you both set a date?" she asked finally.

"I was thinking Wednesday evening once all the performances of the ballet have been completed."

"So long? I was hoping we could be married sooner!" she mock pouted.

"Darling, you are going to be quite busy for the next two weeks, and I do not want an exhausted bride on my hands on my wedding night. I fully intend to savor that first evening with you. I've been thinking about all the ways I want to make love to you, and I think it will be a very special night for both of us," he whispered into her ear, enjoying how his words made her squirm pleasurably in his arms.

"I suppose you are right, Erik," she sighed, snuggling close to him, simply enjoying the firmness of his chest at her back.

"There is one thing we must discuss though."

"What?"

"There is the matter of my surname, or rather my lack of one. It was not something my mother every deigned to share with me. The priest suggested we choose something together. So my darling, out of all the names in the world, which do you like best? I was thinking, however, I might take your name. Wouldn't that be dreadfully modern of me?" he said chuckling against her neck.

"Burnside? You would become Erik Burnside?" her voice incredulous he would propose such a thing. Men did not take a woman's surname. It was simply unheard of unless there was some sort of title involved. "Erik, I would rather leave my name behind. It is not a name I have any sort of attachment to. I have never met my father, and I have only kept his name because it was so important to my mother. I think Father Lessard is correct, it should be a new name. And since you have never had a last name, I think you should be the one to choose one."

He moved to protest, but she silenced him with a kiss. "I don't want to know what it is either. It can be a surprise for our wedding day," she said as she gave him one of her dazzling smiles. Erik was not one to disappoint his bride to be, so he kissed her back to seal the bargain between them. What in God's name was he going to pick though?

The room became strangely silent, and one of his hands slipped into the inner pocket of his tailcoat. He felt the leather box slide between his fingers, and he took the ring out. Because of their proximity, Gia could feel him fumbling for something in his coat, and she moved to the side to give him wider access. Looking over her left shoulder, she thought she caught a glimpse of something, but it vanished so quickly, she assumed her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Erik saw the puzzlement on her face, and in that moment he quickly thought of a way to give her the ring. He waved his large leather clad hands in front of her eyes, showing her there was nothing in them. He then curled them into two fists, and bade her choose one. She picked the left first, and then the right, but still there was nothing. Then he reached behind her left ear, and using his great skill at legerdemain, he produced the ring, and held it before her eyes. He expected her to be delighted, but she burst into tears at the sight of the ring, leaving him at something for a loss as to what he should do.

"Is there something wrong with it? I knew I should have had you just pick something out yourself! I'm not going back to that place alone again, that woman---"

But he found himself cut off, by Gia taking her hand and wrapping it around his as she opened her eyes so he could see she was happy rather than sad. She smiled and said, "You great fool, it's perfect! Now put it on me!" she practically squealed.

He slipped the band on the fourth finger on her left hand, which she had extended toward him. The ring looked even better on her finger than it had on the case in the shop. It sparkled as though it knew it found its rightful owner. Gia gently removed his mask so she could press her left hand against the right side of his face so he could feel the cool metal that would bind them together. He turned his face into her palm, and placed a hot kiss there.

They never did make it back to his lair that evening.


	40. 40

**A/N: First off, I want to apologize for "Contact" somehow getting all out of order, but I believe that's all be remedied. This chapter is a bit shorter than what you all have gotten used to, and there is very little of Erik and Gia in it. Their presence is felt however. I promise they'll be back in the next installment. I hope you enjoy this, and please review. Your wonderful comments always cheer me up.**

* * *

Raoul de Chagny was ensconced in his private office making arrangements for the upcoming visit to Paris with his wife when Piquet entered, bearing a letter on silver tray. It was not an uncommon occurrence, and the viscomte gestured to the servant to simply leave the note. He returned to the letter he was writing making final arrangements for the house he and Christine were going to stay in for two weeks, and only once that letter had been signed and sealed did he turn to the new correspondence. The first thing he noticed was the fine, somehow familiar stationary, and that there was no return address to reply to. It was unusual, but he turned the letter back over to look at the front of the envelope, and his heart sank.

The script was the same that he had once seen on a note addressed to him. It had warned him to stay far away from Christine because she already had a protector. From the looks of things, the Phantom had not given up his penchant for writing letters, he thought as a grimace marred his features. He assumed the man had to be dead. Wouldn't he have sought out Christine before this? Stranger still was the fact the letter was addressed to the both of them. Had the man become so arrogant that he did not fear what could happen if it was discovered he still lived?

He left the letter unopened and turned down the hallway to the nursery. He said a silent prayer to himself, hoping that Philippe and Christine were as yet unharmed. He found them together sitting on the floor, his son clapping his hands together while his mother bestowed him with one of her beatific smiles. Her expression evaporated when she saw Raoul's stern face. Christine knew her husband well enough that it meant that something was upsetting him. She rose from her position on the floor to stand at her husband's side.

As he drew her away, taking her by the elbow, the nanny moved in to take Christine's place and continue entertaining the child who was making happy noises. Raoul kept his voice low, not wanting the servant to overhear them. "Christine, I need you to come with me to my office. There is something I must show you."

It was not a request. She followed him in silence, but she had a feeling that this must somehow relate back to Erik. Raoul must have learned that he was still alive, and she must either admit that she concealed that fact from her husband or continue to lie. Once they entered the office, Raoul shut the door behind him, and she took a seat in the chair in front of the desk while he moved to the other side where there was a large leather wing chair. He tossed the letter to her, and he watched as her hands shook as she read the envelope. She clearly recognized who must have sent the letter.

"It would seem our masked friend is still alive. No doubt he is looking to make trouble for us again. I suppose I should have expected something like this would happen, after all his body was never found. But no matter, I will have him found and we will put this all behind us. I promised I would protect you from him, and the passage of time has done nothing to change that," he said to her as she turned the envelope over and over in her hands, her eyes never leaving it. "I shall contact the Paris gendarmes immediately. It's the most likely place—"

"NO! You will do no such thing Raoul. He has suffered enough for one lifetime. Can we not consign him to the past?" she pleaded with him.

"Christine, how can you say such a thing? He tried to force you to marry him! He kidnapped you in front of an entire theater and killed scores of people with that damn chandelier! How can you pity a monster like that?"

"You forget he was my greatest consolation as a child. When I thought I was all alone in the world he came to me and shared with me his music. He taught me. He was strict, but always patient and kind. I know there is much good in him," she explained. "Any evil he has ever done was because of all he has been through in his life. It is not his fault he was born less than perfect. You never knew Erik as I did."

Jealousy coursing though him he said, "Erik, is it? You never told me you were on a first name basis with him. Can you understand why I would doubt his good intentions? Cats do not change their stripes so easily, my dear."

Christine stood up, furious with her husband. How dare he speak to her in such a condescending manner? She was no longer a child to be dictated to! She shook the letter at him as she thundered at him, "How can you be so certain he has not changed? You have not even looked at his letter. The seal is still unbroken. Hear him out!"

On some level, Raoul could understand her protectiveness toward the Phantom. She had told him about how he had been a great comfort to her as a child. But it was folly for her to be so certain that he was not the same man he had been. Could her feelings for him be more than friendly? "Fine, then, I shall open his damned letter," he said snatching the letter away from her.

He broke the red seal easily, and drew out the note.

_My dear Viscomte and Vicomtess,_

_I apologize first for any sort of disturbance this letter may have brought your household. You should know, Monsieur that I contacted your wife previously to inform her that I had returned to Paris. I am fairly certain she has not told you because the authorities have not come calling for me yet. I know this letter will probably do little to convince you otherwise, but I feel you should know that none of you: your wife, child, or yourself has anything to fear from me. I have moved on with my life._

_Then, why, do you ask, am I writing to you? Dear boy, we all parted company on a rather unfortunate note. I am seeking to make amends for that before I move on to the next stage of my life. I am going to be married to Mademoiselle Gianna Burnside, and I wish to place my history with you both to rest. _

_No doubt you both will be attending the opening gala of _Giselle_, and I feel that we should meet while you are in town so we can speak with each other. Yes, boy, you as well. It is time we concluded this unfinished business. I expect a prompt reply to this letter._

_I remain, as ever your obedient servant, _

_Erik_

Once Raoul finished reading the letter he handed it to Christine to peruse. The letter certainly read like something that the Phantom would write. It was difficult for him to think of the Phantom as having a first name like everyone else. It humanized him too much. Raoul had preferred to think of the Phantom as a monster, but that was increasingly difficult if he thought about the man too much. He knew something of his tragic past, and the fact he was good to Christine when she was child would seem to indicate he was not all bad. But Raoul would never forget the tortures both physical and mental the Phantom forced him to endure.

He had watched as the masked man had nearly made love to his fiancée on stage with his less than subtle song. He had felt the rope tightening around his neck as he had threatened to kill him if Christine did not pledge herself to him. And then he had watched as Christine had kissed him, not once but twice, offering her sweet mouth and lips to him. He had thought at that moment she was lost to him forever. For that, Raoul could never completely trust a word the Phantom uttered.

When Christine finished reading the letter she set it back down on the desk. Her eyes were closed. She was preparing herself for Raoul's next verbal onslaught. But she heard his voice, surprisingly even in tone, coming across the desk.

"Christine, how long have you been writing to him?"

"It was only one letter, Raoul. It came with a packet of letters from Madame Giry and Meg. He wished us congratulations on the birth of Philippe. He told me he wanted to see me, just to talk the next time I came to town. I sent him a reply that I did not think it would be wise for us to meet because I would not be able to see him without alerting you. This was the response."

Raoul glared at his wife. "That is why you did not want to go to Paris or bring Philippe with us, isn't it? Even you do not trust him, Christine. That is enough for me to want to turn this over to the police. How can we believe this tale that he is looking to mend fences before he marries that girl? How can we know it is not a trap to lure us both in? You know it is not beyond him."

Christine looked at her husband thoughtfully, her brown eyes wide and soft. He was still uncertain that she would not leave him for Erik if they were left alone together. "Raoul, I love you and Philippe. You do not need to fear that I will leave you for Erik. I do believe you are jealous of him!" When her husband did not say anything, she interpreted his silence as confirmation. "I do care for him, and had things been different, perhaps I would be his woman. But that is not what happened. You came back into my life and that changed everything. My only great regret is the way things ended between us. I treated him dreadfully.

If you had seen his face when I returned to him to give him the ring, Raoul, then you would understand. He was so hopeful, sitting there singing to his little music box, and his face lit up when he saw me. And then he wept. He was the most pitiful creature I have ever seen. And I did that to him. That image of him has haunted me. I felt culpable for his miserable demise. For that reason, I hope to God that letter is not a lie. If he has found someone to love him, I would celebrate that. I think we should tell him we shall see him."

He found it nearly impossible to contradict his wife. Christine was generally a woman of few words. She preferred to express emotions with her eyes or through song. Since their marriage, she had rarely spoken of the Phantom or her feelings for him in detail. No doubt because she knew he would be jealous. "Tell me the truth, Christine, did you ever love him? I saw the way you were together on stage that night. You were not acting." Raoul flinched slightly on his next words, "He—he aroused you."

Christine bridged the gap between them, hugging him close, "Oh Raoul, you must understand that at the time I had no idea what I was feeling. My body wanted him, but my heart was yours from the night we went to the rooftop of the Opera Populaire. I was terribly confused. I knew I had to make a choice, but either one would mean betraying one of you."

Relief coursed though him as she made her confession. She loved him! He often forgot just how young she was. She had matured so much in the last two years that the girl of those trying times seemed far in the past, but she was only eighteen years old. He held her close and gave her an affectionate kiss on the top of her head. "Do you really think he could be telling the truth about him and Mademoiselle Burnside? We only spent that one evening with her, and although she was very pleasant company, I cannot imagine he would transfer his affections for you to her so quickly. She is quite different from you."

Christine laughed quietly, and turned her face up to look at her husband. Sometimes the man could be rather in the dark about matters of the heart. "I think it's all to the good she is nothing like me. What Erik felt for me was obsession. Lust. He was desperate to bring an end to his loneliness. He was in love with an image of me that did not truly exist. What he feels for Mademoiselle Burnside could very well be love. I am not one to pry into the nature of his soul. I would certainly like to believe it, for his sake. He should not be alone."

Raoul marveled at her empathy for the Opera Ghost. Her good memories of him certainly overrode those less than pleasant ones. He would give the man one chance to prove himself. "For you, my darling, I am willing to see the Phantom, but I am not so foolish as to confront him unarmed. If at any time I feel our safety is in jeopardy I will not hesitate to kill him. I will not allow him to threaten our family," he vowed.

"I understand, Raoul. I shall write to him and say that we will see him. I think we should see him before the gala, don't you? Since we are going in to town mid-week we can see him before Friday evening. I shall send the letter to Mademoiselle Burnside. If she is his fiancée as he says, she will convey our message to him."

"I shall leave you to arrange the details then," he said. He was glad to have escaped the conversation without having to reveal that at one point he had read the letter she sent to Madame Giry and Meg hoping to learn why she had been playing cloak and dagger with those letters a couple of weeks ago. He had never guessed that the letter he should have opened was the one to Mademoiselle Burnside. In one respect, the Phantom had not changed. If she was his new obsession, that would explain how a woman of her age had come to be cast in the ballet. Hopefully this production would not turn out like the ill-fated _Don Juan Triumphant_. He was unwilling as yet to believe that Mademoiselle Burnside could be involved with the Phantom of her free will. And if for some reason she was, he would explain to her she was making a terrible mistake. Like Christine, she had grown up quite sheltered, and no doubt he had used his charms on her as well.

Raoul gave Christine a kiss on her cheek and she left his office, most likely to adjourn to the day room where she would compose the letter to the Phantom telling him they were coming. It was going to be difficult to keep his promise to Christine that he would allow her to make all the arrangements.

He would have Piquet bring him her letter before it was delivered.

* * *

It was a lovely spring day, and Christine wanted to take a walk around her gardens before she turned to the task of writing to Erik. She was quite excited at the prospect of seeing Erik again. Raoul would be with her, so there was nothing to fear. Raoul would see that Erik was not the same man he had been. Love changed people. It had changed her. The fact she had written to him more than a week ago, and he had yet to write her any sort of response would seem to indicate he was preoccupied with something or someone other than herself. For that reason, she could believe that he truly was courting Gianna Burnside.

Christine suspected that Raoul would rather die than spend an evening chatting with Erik and that he was only doing this to humor her. She understood his insistence that they not see him without some form of protection, and in truth, she was grateful Raoul was an excellent swordsman and shot. There was the possibility this was all a ruse, and she had to be careful to remind herself that Erik could not be completely trusted.

His letter had sounded so like him. She could hear his voice in her ears as her eyes had drunk in the words on the white page. She walked past the rose bushes which would not bloom for at least another month, and thought about the blood red roses he had once given her. Did he give them to Gia as well? Was she his lover? She silently berated herself for her thoughts. If her husband could hear them, he would think she was envious. She was more curious than anything. How exactly had they become involved? Had she known him before she had gone to dinner with them?

She followed the brick path back to the house and had one of the housemaids fetch her some stationary, a fountain pen, and some ink so she could write the letter. At first, she merely stared at the pages, unsure of how to begin, but once she began writing the words flowed easily onto the page.

_Dear Erik,_

_I must say your letter to Raoul and I caught us both off guard. I did not expect that you would ever contact him directly. I could tell he was not pleased to learn that you are alive and that you had been in contact with me. However, I believe I have been able to convince my husband that we can safely meet with you next week. I told him that I know you are a good man, Erik. Please do not disappoint or make a liar out of me._

_We are coming to Paris on Tuesday next, and if you do not have plans for Thursday evening we can meet after the dinner hour. I know you eschew public places for the most part, and although I'm sure Raoul would prefer we meet somewhere public, I think it is best if we speak somewhere we can have some privacy. I suggest we speak in Mademoiselle Burnside's room. That will give us sufficient privacy, but should alleviate any of my husband's concerns about our safety. It will also give us the opportunity to see her again. We quite enjoyed her company at dinner a few weeks ago._

_I would also like to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials with Mademoiselle Burnside. As pleased as I was to learn that you had not died two years ago, I am even more heartened to hear that you have found someone to love you. I hope that once we all have the chance to speak, things can be settled between us. I know I have my regrets about what happened. I think it will be good for us to put things out in the open._

_If this is agreeable to you, you should send your next letter to: Foucault House, 35 Rue des Fleurs, Paris. That is the address we shall be staying at while we are in town. I hope you appreciate the level of trust I am putting in you by giving you this information._

_Sincerely,_

_Christine de Chagny_

With a final stroke of her pen, she signed the letter and addressed the envelope. As she had forgotten to ask for materials to seal the envelope with, she instructed Piquet to do so when she handed him the letter. After making a quick trip down to the kitchen to see how dinner was coming, Christine went back to the nursery to spend the rest of the day with Philippe. She was unaware that just down the hall, her husband was reading the note with great interest.

In less than a week, they would all be transported back two years to revisit the moments that had broken one man, brought exultation to another, and profound guilt and confusion to the woman they both loved.


	41. 41

**A/N: I thank you all most profusely for your patience with me. I am trying to do some writing every evening, but I usually only do a couple pages at a time because I've been busy. Once again, this is a slightly shorter chapter, but there should be somme longer ones coming up! As always, I appreciate your reviews, and look forward to reading the next batch.**

* * *

With the opening performance of _Giselle_ a week away, the Metropolitan Opera was veritable beehive of activity. Rehearsals were now being conducted with the full sets and many of the props that were going to be used during the performance were incorporated as well. Final fittings for the costumes were conducted, and Gia was thrilled when Madame Beaulieu told her the gown would have to be slightly taken in. All of the Wilis were wearing the same costume, but Gia was to be distinguished by carrying a gilded baton as a wand, and her hair was to be pulled back and dressed with pearl beads. All of the other girls were to wear their hair down, but upon their heads would rest wreaths of white roses made of silk.

The costume itself was pure white, both the bodice and the skirt. The sleeves were off the shoulder and formed a deep vee, and it was only upon close examination would one notice that the bodice actually consisted of two layers of fabric. The under-layer was plain white satin, but overlaying it was a gauzy white silk that had been shot through with tiny silver threads. On stage, they would shimmer as they whirled, catching the footlights as they turned. Madame Beaulieu also informed all girls that their stocking and shoes were to be the whitest they could possibly find. Extra money was being allocated for shoes in particular, because it was unlikely they could be reused after a performance because they would become too soiled.

Gia looked at herself in the mirror, garbed in white, and it was impossible for her not to picture herself in a different sort of white dress, standing before the altar with Erik by her side, her near opposite dressed in black. Lost in thought, she curled her thumb around the ring finger of her left hand, missing the feel of the ring there. She wore it whenever they were alone together. It was the first thing she would do when she returned to her room. Before she would even take her hair down, she would slip the band over her finger. In a week and a half another band would join it.

In the evenings, she and Erik would enjoy supper and he would regale her with his activities for the day. He had not been attending the rehearsals as much as he would have liked, mostly because he was at Madame Collette's overseeing the creation of Gia's wedding dress. Three women were sewing the dress, and he was there, along with the couturier herself to fret over nearly every stitch. The ladies teased him about being the most eager bridegroom they'd ever known, and he had found himself enjoying a laugh with them on occasion. To encourage them, one morning he brought along with him a dozen almond croissants for them to eat, and they had all proclaimed he was the most thoughtful client they ever served.

This afternoon he had found himself reluctantly returning to the jewelry shop to select a wedding band. The same young woman was standing behind the counter, and his instinct had been to turn tail and get out of the shop before she noticed him, but at the sound of the bells at the door she raised her ash blonde head and saw him. Her eyes visibly darkened, and she gave him a very appreciative half-smile, almost a leer.

"I see you could not bear to stay away long, Monsieur," she said to him as he walked tentatively toward her.

"Yes. It would seem I now need to purchase a wedding band. I thought since I purchased the engagement ring here you would be able to help me find something that would match it," replied, keeping his voice all business.

"Well Monsieur, a great deal depends on exactly when this wedding of yours is to take place. If it is going to be a long engagement you may want to have something made up particularly for the young lady you are planning to marry. My father is the master jeweler here, and he would be more than happy to accommodate any request you might make." Marie could hardly believe her good fortune that the masked man had returned so soon. She had hoped he would return again, if only so she could see his handsome face. But his money made him all the more attractive. Rich men did take mistresses after all, and soon enough he'd be bored with his little wife. If should attract his attention now, he might be disposed to seeking her out at a later date.

Ever since she had been old enough to peer over the counter, her father had her working behind it selling the various baubles he created. He had been thrilled when she informed him that ring he had modeled after his own wife's engagement ring had been sold. That the man was back so quickly would seem to indicate the lady liked the ring, and this would be an excellent opportunity to gain a wealthy client for her father, and demonstrate her interest in the gentleman. Marie had found that flirting with the male clientele was often instrumental to securing a large purchase. Occasionally this was most burdensome when the men were aging and ugly, but she needed little encouragement faced with this man.

He was probably scarred in some way beneath the mask, but she found his scowl far more disconcerting than the piece of porcelain concealing a part of the right side of his face. "Monsieur, would you like me to fetch my father?" she asked gently, hoping her smile would cheer him up. A man who was supposedly in love should not look quite so dour!

"That will not be necessary, Mademoiselle. My wedding is to be in a little over a week, so I doubt there will be time to have anything made. I would be grateful if you would select something you thing appropriate. Your previous choice certainly met with the approval of my fiancée." The girl was giving him the oddest looks, and he felt so disconcerted that she was studying him so closely that he forgot what he was going to say next. It was almost as though she was appraising him like she would a pair of earrings.

It struck Erik as something of a shame that there would not be time to have a custom ring executed, but he could make due with what was available. "I was thinking it should be very simple, nothing elaborate," he said when he was able to find his voice again.

"I would agree with you, Monsieur. The stone in the engagement ring is so fine, nothing in the wedding band should detract from it," she said thoughtfully as she reached into case to take out the tray of available rings. The man had good taste that was for certain. She laid the rings out on the counter, and he picked up each one in turn, inspecting it carefully by holding it up between his leather covered thumb and forefinger. It was only when he had gone through all of them that he pushed the fourth ring he had looked at toward her. It was a platinum band, but engraved all around it were entwining vines of ivy. Only the plain platinum band was less ornate, and he asked if one could be found in his size.

Marie was a bit surprised since most fashionable men did not wear wedding bands, but he took of the glove on his right hand so she could obtain his ring size. There was not a plain band large enough for him, and she dashed into the backroom. Moments later a man who must have been in his early forties came out with her. His black hair was streaked with gray, but he was still a fine figure of a man, not yet hunched from spending his days leaning over a jeweler's table.

"So you are the gentleman my Marie has told me of! I do believe I can have a ring made to fit you before the date of the wedding since the design you have chosen is so simple. I shall leave my child here to arrange the details. But be careful, Monsieur I believe she is quite taken with you!" he said jovially before he returned to his workroom.

At her father's remark, Marie had the good grace to redden almost instantly. She had not thought she had been quite so transparent as all that! Exposed by her father, she took the rest of the gentleman's order which included the engravings for the inner band of the rings, doing her best to keep her eyes focused on the slip she was filling out. She promised everything would be done in a week, and he left a generous down payment on both rings. After the way her father had embarrassed her, he would probably never come back one he had the rings. The gentleman left, and she went to the work room to deliver the order to her father.

He sat up at the sound of his daughter's footsteps. She looked slightly wilted, but he would rather she suffer a small bruise to her dignity now rather than make a fool of herself by chasing after a man who was so clearly above her station. She had talked of nothing but the man in the mask for the past couple of days. She wordlessly handed him the order slip, and it was obvious she was angry with him. He read it over and before she could clomp off in a huff, he called out to her, "Marie, it is best you forget that man! Any man who would have this inscription put inside his fiancée's wedding band will not be looking for a girl to warm his bed anytime soon."

A curious look crossed her face, and he waved at her to come up to the bench and explained the strange words on the slip of paper to her. A tear slipped from her right eye, and she wiped it away. "Oh Papa, how romantic!"

He nodded and patted his only child on the back. It was a good thing that the hearts of the young could be mended so easily.

* * *

On the way back to her room, Gia found herself waylaid by Monsieur Dupoix, who after being very effusive in his praise for her work, handed her a letter that had been delivered to the opera house that afternoon addressed to her from the Viscomtess de Chagny.

"You will tell me if they have decided not to attend the gala, won't you? I was so hoping that they would enjoy the performance enough to consider becoming patrons again. It's something of a tradition in the family, you know," he said somewhat nervously as he wrung his hands.

Gia was certain she knew what the letter would be regarding, so she sought to soothe the man who had been as a father to her. "I doubt that they would miss the performance. Meg Giry is a dear friend of the viscomtess, and this shall be her debut as Giselle. And I believe she was even a dancer at one time herself." She thanked him for the note, and took his hands in hers to still them. He stilled and regained some of his composure.

"Well, my dear, even if they cannot come, at least they have given enough notice that the seats can be sold. The demand for tickets has been quite extraordinary! I dare say every performance will be sold out." At that Gia blanched visibly and sucked in her lower lip to nibble on it without thinking. Poor child was so anxious! "My dear, if the reports I have heard are to be believed, you have nothing to worry about. Madame Giry is quite pleased with your work, and coming from her that is high praise indeed." He bid her good evening and reminded her of the importance of getting a good night's rest, to which she simply nodded dutifully.

She found Erik awaiting her on her bed. He was asleep, lying on his back with his hands protectively resting on his chest. His mask was sitting on her night table, and she gazed upon his bare face, which was so relaxed while in peaceful repose. His long dark eyelashes nearly scraped along his cheeks. She did not want to disturb him, but when he heard the noises of her undressing he woke up. Moving silently, he surprised Gia while she was changing behind her screen. Her torso was completely bare, but her ballet skirt was still on, as were her stockings. Her curly hair was let down and he wrapped himself around her, and slid his left hand up to cup her right breast.

She gasped at the contact, but the shock rapidly gave way to a moan of want as he teased the nipple with his fingers, giving enough pressure to cause it to pucker into a tight bud. But then his fingers danced around it, as he buried his face into her neck, nuzzling it. She leaned back into him and rocked her hips back in silent invitation making him painfully hard. He freed his erection from his trousers, and just as he was poised to rip her stockings off so he would be able to slide into her wet and welcoming warmth, she pulled away from him, leaving him bereft.

When she turned to face him, she took one look at him and her lips twisted into a lopsided grin, and he watched as her breasts jiggled when she stifled a laugh. "Well, what do we have here?" she asked as she cocked her head slightly to one side and crossed her arms across her chest, effectively shielding herself. He groaned, hoping that would be enough to get her to undress, but to his chagrin, she was pulling a nightgown on, pretending as if he was not standing before her, the evidence of his desire for her evident.

He could only stare at her as she wriggled out of the skirt and stockings, all the while maintaining her modesty. She finally said to him, "You know, my dear, you really should see to that. Button yourself up, I have something to show you." He was half tempted to shove that nightgown up over her waist in order to satisfy himself, but he did as she asked, cursing her under his breath.

Gia walked over to the vanity and handed him the letter. He recognized the stationary immediately as Christine's before he even noticed the address.

"Although it is addressed to me, I am assuming the letter is for you, Erik."

He broke the seal on the envelope and read the letter. Gia looked on, studying his face, hoping that it might betray his thoughts. He knit his brows together, and pouted his lips slightly, but that told her little. Once he had finished it, he dropped his right hand to his side a moment before he gave the letter to her to read.

She made short work of it, and said, "They are willing to see you."

"It would seem so."

"Christine sounds most eager. I hope she will able to keep her husband in check. She does say that she does not think he wants to do this." Gia's voice was filled with concern. From her one evening with the vicomte she knew he was a man very much in love with his wife. There was no telling what he might be capable of if he perceived Erik as a threat to his marriage. "Are you certain you should do this, Erik?"

"I have to, my love. I owe Christine, and dare I say, that boy, some answers for my past actions. I promise to be on my very best behavior. I have no desire to provoke him," he replied. Gia was absentmindedly clutching her nightgown and worrying her fingers on it, a habit he noticed she only displayed when she was agitated.

"Are you going to use my room for you meeting? It does seem like an ideal location. It will be easy to give an excuse to bring them back here, and you can access the room without too much worry of being seen," she commented.

"Gia, I want you to be here. I want them to see you."

"Erik, I have no desire to be paraded in front of them and displayed for your benefit!"

She had mistaken his meaning, and Erik sought the proper words to say what he really meant. He closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath before he answered her. "I am not trying to show you off. I do not want you to think that I want to see them merely to impress them with how I have changed. I want you to be here because I doubt they will believe that you are my willing companion unless you assure them otherwise."

Considering the history among them, he was making sense. However the idea of being present when they talked about events of which she had no part, events that had brought such pain to them all; it would be like being the worst sort of voyeur. She did not want to tell Erik that she would rather not hear any more of that night. She would stand silently by his side and give him the support he needed and only enter the conversation if she was directly addressed.

"I will stay then. But only because it will be good for you to have at least one person in the room who you can be certain does not want you dead," she joked, hoping it would mask her fear. "Besides, I'm just about as big as the viscomte, I can always help you fight him off if need be."

He chuckled at her jest, and pulled her in for a warm embrace. He whispered gently into her ear, "Have I told you today how much I love you?"

He both heard and felt her response to the negative against his cheek.

"I have been most remiss in my duties as fiancé to forget something like that. Now if you don't mind, I would like to show you just how much I love you."

Erik felt her sigh against his chest. She titled her face up to his and said to him, her eyes shining, "You don't have to show me, Erik. You prove it to me a thousand little ways everyday." And then she kissed him sweetly, her tongue dipping into his mouth drawing his out. When she broke the kiss, she took his hand and guided him to the bed.

He began to undress, and he was surprised when she did not immediately follow suit, but instead went over to her vanity. The top of the wooden vanity was what he liked to think of as controlled insanity, strewn with hair pins, her brush, and various other feminine accoutrements. He watched with interest as she rooted around for a moment, and pulled out a familiar looking tin.

God, he was a lucky bastard!

He told her so, and she replied cryptically, "Erik, you aren't the only one who has been doing some shopping in his spare time."


	42. 42

**A/N: I hope you all enjoy this installment, even though it was quite a long time coming. Please read and review. Thank you for all of the continued positive feedback.**

* * *

As the date of the gala drew closer, Gia treasured the few hours she was able to share with Erik each evening. When she would arrive in her room after a full day of rehearsal he would have a meal prepared for her, and he would watch her to be sure she would eat all of it. She had been too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but he had not minded. He took her swollen feet in his hands and would knead the pain away as he sang to her. He gave her nothing but words of encouragement, and commented that the music sounded particularly wonderful. The only somewhat disturbing thing was that he refused to say anything to her about her performance.

Erik brushed away all her inquiries aside, as though they were flecks of crumbs on his waistcoat, often giving the excuse he could not be impartial where she was concerned. Gia could only think that he was fearful that if he told her the truth she would be upset. It was, perhaps, the one thing in the way of making her perfectly happy. That, and the fast approaching conference with the de Chagnys. Erik had duly dispatched a letter to them at the address Christine had indicated, informing them that Gia would escort them to her room on Thursday evening and that they should only reply if for some reason they would be unable to attend. Today they were expected to arrive in Paris, and Meg had mentioned they planned to pay a visit to the opera house.

At something of a loss, Gia decided to approach the one person she felt it was safe to speak with, Madame Giry. Following the morning rehearsal on Tuesday, she approached the harried ballet mistress after she had a particularly sharp exchange with Monsieur Reyer. She was concerned that the tempo was too a bit too quick during one of Giselle's solos and he had responded by showing her the score and saying the orchestra was playing as the composer had indicated. Reyer's lost his patience with Giry and suggested the problem was that she had given poor instruction to Meg, a charge which had struck the proud woman momentarily dumb. She had been at the point of insulting the man and his entire ancestry when she heard someone behind her clear her throat. Giry turned to find Gia standing there, and Reyer took the opportunity to mumble an apology and skitter off in search of lunch.

"Madame Giry, I know this is a bad time, but may I speak with you for a moment?" Gia asked, sincerely hoping the woman would not in her anger loose her formidable temper on the first person to speak to her. Gia was much relieved to see Madame Giry's visage and form relax upon observing her in her practice uniform.

Giry took one look at the tall young woman with the wide searching eyes, and she was certain she knew what the girl was about. Christine would be here this afternoon, and Gia was undoubtedly nervous about seeing the woman who Erik had once loved.

"Dear child, although there are about a thousand things I should be doing at the moment, I must say I would rather speak with you than do anything else. Come, Meg is off with Georges having her lunch. We can talk in her dressing room."

For _Giselle_, both Meg and Gia had been given their own dressing rooms backstage. Meg's was the far larger one since it was normally occupied by the Metropolitan's leading soprano Francesca Cabrini. Francesca had always been a good sort, and unlike many of the principle singers, had been quite happy for the time off. She generously had offered her dressing room up to Meg Giry before she left to take a much desired holiday to the seaside. She had kissed the ballerina warmly on both cheeks and wished her luck, saying that she would be back in time to see them all at the gala. Meg had been rather overwhelmed by the generosity of the diva, and had stammered her thanks only when prodded by her mother. Gia was given a smaller room, the one used for whoever had the second female lead. Since that regularly rotated depending on whether the part was for a soprano or mezzo, no one was inconvenienced when Gia brought a few objects from her room in for luck.

Madame Giry used her key to unlock Meg's dressing room, and motioned for Gia to take a seat on the emerald green ormolu chaise-lounge. Gia sat, but could not find her voice and found herself running her fingers along the seam of the couch. Madame Giry ascertained that Gia's nerves had gotten the better of her, so she initiated the conversation.

"I am sure you have heard that Christine and her husband are expected here this afternoon. Is that what is making you so anxious?" she asked.

"Yes. But I am more concerned about Thursday evening. I do not know if she has said anything to you in her letters, but she and her husband are to meet with Erik in my room. Erik has told me he simply wants to put the past behind him by saying good bye to them properly and apologize to her for what he put her through, and yet I worry that something shall go terribly wrong," Gia confided.

It was a bit much for Madame Giry to take in all at once. It was a great risk for Erik to want to take, but the man was infuriatingly pig-headed when it came to Christine. "Have you tried to dissuade him?"

"I have. I am not as concerned that he will act improperly, but I do not know if I can trust Monsieur le Viscomte. He is a kind gentleman, but he loves his wife, and I cannot imagine he will go into this meeting without his prejudices against Erik." Gia's eyes began to water, and tears slipped down her face as she continued, "Oh, Antoinette, I do not know what I would do if anything was to happen to him. I do not think I can live without him."

Antoinette looked upon the young woman with a great deal of sympathy. Many years ago she had felt the same way about a young man. When he had died, leaving her alone with a tiny baby girl, there had been times when she despaired of making it to the next sunrise. "Gia, you are a young woman in love. And more than that, you are a young woman who is about to become a bride. If you thought otherwise, I would be more concerned."

"Erik told you of our understanding? He had not mentioned that to me."

"Do you object to me knowing?" the ballet mistress asked.

"No, it is not that at all. I am quite glad that he told you. If all goes well we are to be married next Wednesday evening at St. Etienne's. If you and Meg would come, I would be most honored. As it stands, it is only to be Erik, me and Father Lessard."

"I shall have to speak with Meg, but I can promise I will be there. I have long hoped to stand up for Erik at his wedding. Are you sure he will not object to my presence?"

Gia could not suppress a smile as she replied, "I do not care if he objects. I am inviting you. You shall both be my guests and if he dares give me grief over it, he will spend our wedding night alone!"

Giry had to admire the young woman who was not afraid to stand up to Erik. She had a strength of character that Christine had never possessed. She had never been over awed by him. She saw Erik as a man like any other, and now the man who had lived so long away from the world was slowly trying to rejoin the human race.

Antoinette chuckled at Gia's joke, then seriously asked her, "What are you both going to do after the wedding? Surely you are not going to continue as you have. You both cannot continue living underground."

Gia exhaled heavily, and responded, "Unless Erik tells me otherwise, I believe things shall remain much as they have. However, we actually spend very little time down in his lair any longer. He has been spending the night in my bedroom. I would like to hold ourselves out as any other married couple and have a home of our own, but when I agreed to be his wife, I knew it would not be a conventional marriage by any means. Maybe one day." Her voice slowly trailed off, and her eyes became slightly unfocused.

"Are you willing to leave here if need be?"

Coming back to earth she said, "I would go anywhere he asked me to. I love him, Antoinette. Being with him is all that matters. He knows my feelings. I just pray that with every day that goes by he comes to see that his face is not as horrible as he imagines it to be. He could be a part of the world if he wanted it enough. But I will not force him. He has good reason to fear as you well know."

Nodding, Madame Giry got up and sat down next to Gia on the chaise-lounge. "My dear, you are the best thing that could have happened to him. You have such a good and accepting heart. But I beg you, do not allow him to take you away from the world. Right now you think love is all you need, but if all remains the same, one day you will come to resent all you gave up for him. If anyone can convince him that the best course of action is for you both to leave here and make your lives elsewhere it is you."

They talked a little while longer, and Madame Giry soothed her fears that Erik was not saying anything about her performance because he thought she was terrible. The former dancer had proclaimed that Gia was doing a fine job, and that if she would only conquer her stage fright all would be well. Additionally, she advised Gia that it would be wise for her to keep an eye on Raoul while they met. He was the wild card in the proceedings, and he might let his passion for Christine to overrule his usual common sense. Inwardly she could not help noticing how the shoe was on the other foot. With Erik secure due to his love for Gia, Raoul became the most dangerous person in the room. He might be tempted to do something rash, and that might lead to something far more tragic than what occurred two years ago.

Together they went up to Madame Giry and Meg's quarters where Gia and Antoinette enjoyed a light repast. Both of them ate little, but said nothing about it. Both women had ample reasons for not being interested in any sort of food. Giry had never before been responsible for such a grand production, and if it was not successful she and Meg would most likely be out on the street again looking for work. She was quite determined that all go well, particularly now that Meg had found a good match in Georges Huget. Professionally, they were well suited, and he was a generous and talented partner. Personally, the young man doted on her and he was most attentive. Giry did not want to see that burgeoning relationship jeopardized. Meg would be crushed if they had to leave.

For Gia, the stakes were nearly as high. Should her performance be singled out as being poor there was the potential she could bring the Metropolitan to financial ruin. Monsieur Dupoix would lose his position and there was no telling what changes a new manager would make. Gia tried to remind herself that not a great deal was expected from her anyway. It was well known that she had danced in public for ten years. But this was _Giselle_, and many of the Parisian critics were no doubt sharpening their knives in anticipation of an easy kill. Gia had her pride, and she did not want to be a laughing stock. Were it not for the kind words of Madame Giry, she was tempted to tell the ballet mistress to inform Dupoix she would not perform and have her understudy take her place. At least then the only reputation damaged would be her own and the opera house would be safe! She could explain to Erik.

Erik.

His name hung above both their heads like the proverbial sword of Damocles, ready to deliver swift judgment in one fell swoop. Gia feared losing him. It could be to Christine or her husband. There was the real possibility she would fail him on Friday evening. He had so much faith in her abilities. What would happen if she disappointed him? Did he really love her at all? Those questions had been foremost in her mind ever since she had donned her costume as Myrta for the first time the day before.

It was so beautiful with its shimmering silk and swirling skirt, she was not certain she could live up to it or to anyone's expectations of her. Despite all these doubts, she promised herself that she would do her utmost. She knew the steps. Madame Giry believed in her. Erik would be there watching her. And above all, she wanted this moment.This had been her most cherished dream. Now was not the time to become needlessly mired in self doubt.

Whereas Madame Giry worried Erik might lose control around the viscomte and Christine. Their once neat triangle had become a square, and there was the potential for them all to come to harm if their conference did not go well. It would be largely up to the ladies to control the situation. Giry could only pray that Christine's love for Raoul was as steadfast as ever. Antoinette had always prided herself on being a realist, and for that reason alone she knew it might take a minor miracle to prevent bloodshed, but deep down she believed a happy ending was possible for all four of them.

Following their silent lunch, the two women returned to the stage. Although this morning they had done some rehearsals without costumes, this afternoon was to be a full dress rehearsal. Gia reported to her dressing room where one of the seamstresses was waiting to help her dress and take note if any last minute alterations were needed. In addition, one of the ladies from the opera chorus was present to help her arrange her hair and dress it with the pearl beads. It was a time consuming process, and Gia was thankful she did not have to report to the stage right away. Once she was dressed, the seamstress handed her the golden rod that was to serve as her wand.

The two ladies then practically pounced on her to do her makeup. When Gia looked in the mirror at the finished product, she almost did not know the woman staring back her. The woman in the mirror was almost devoid of color. Her eyes had been outlined in kohl so they stood out a vivid blue and her lips were bright red. Her cheeks had the barest amount of color. Her skin had been powdered so she was nearly the same color as her costume. She looked like one of the waking dead.

And yet, the figure was not an unpleasant one. The woman in the mirror was beautiful and unearthly, words Gia never would have used to describe herself.

"There now, Mademoiselle Burnside, you are finished! And I hope this doesn't offend you, but I think you make a perfect Queen of the Wilis!" exclaimed the young woman from the opera chorus. The seamstress nodded in agreement, and Gia gave them both a nervous grin. "Now off with you backstage," they both exhorted her simultaneously.

When Gia managed to get backstage, Act I was underway and Meg was prancing around the stage beguiling her two gentlemen. Wanting a few moments alone, she went to a practice room to warm-up a bit and make certain her shoes were not laced up too loosely. After doing a short sequence from her solo, she determined all was well on that score, so she danced in time to the music coming from the orchestra pit. But suddenly the music stopped in what should have been the middle of Giselle's final dance with Albrecht.

Something had to be wrong, since everyone had been informed that today's rehearsal was to go straight through without any breaks. Gia dashed for the wings, nearly colliding with Juliet Simone, one of the dancers in the corps de ballet.

"Juliet, forgive me! What in heaven's name is going on? I thought this was to be a complete rehearsal. Why has the music stopped?" Gis inquired, almost breathless.

"Oh Gia, we have visitors! The Viscomte de Chagny and his wife are here and Dupoix is showing them around a bit. We stopped so they wouldn't be spoiled for the gala."

From that point on, Gia stopped listening to the teenager who continued to comment on how very handsome the viscomte was, what a very lovely dress his wife was wearing, and how very exciting it was that one of the oldest titled families in France was going to be present at the opening performance. Christine was here! And if Erik was in the balconies as she suspected he was, he would see her. Gia did the only thing she could do, she wrung her hands because if she did anything else, she might ruin her costume.

"Can you believe that Meg and her old dragon of a mother are actually friends with them?"

The question broke Gia from her reverie, and she snapped at Juliet, "Of course I can believe it! Not so very long ago the viscomtess was in your shoes. That was how she made the acquaintance of Meg and Madame Giry. Unlike you, however, she had the talent and sweetness of character to capture the heart of a gentleman!"

Unwilling to listen to the silly ballet rat any longer, Gia headed for the stage, leaving Juliet with her jaw dropped in astonishment. As Gia looked from the wings, she could see that everyone and everything had come to a dead stop as the viscomte and his wife were being reunited with Meg and Madame Giry while the entire company looked on. She attempted to conceal herself behind a scrim curtain, but she heard Christine's voice call to her.

"Is that you Mademoiselle Burnside? Do come out. My husband and I were hoping we would have the chance to see you this afternoon."

All other conversations ceased as the eyes of all the people assembled became trained on her. Gia's feet felt as though they were weighed down with plaster, but she forced herself to walk out onto the stage and toward the small group that consisted of Monsieur Dupoix, Madame Giry, Meg, Christine, and Raoul. Unsure of herself, Gia did the one thing that came naturally, she made a formal curtsey and waited until they bid her to raise her head.

* * *

Looking on from the upper balcony, Erik was finding it difficult to draw breath. His heart was beating a fierce tattoo that would not abate. It had begun when he saw Christine on the arm of the boy followed closely by Dupoix emerge from stage right. Dupoix loudly announced their presence, which startled everyone on stage, and caused Monsieur Reyer to lose his place in the score. The orchestra came to a screeching halt, and that caused him and the old conductor to wince painfully.

When he opened his eyes, he closed them and reopened them to be sure this was not a hallucination. Erik would have known that pale brunette form in the sky blue walking dress anywhere. It really was her, and she was on stage again, looking like an angel.

Now that she was married, she no longer wore her hair loose, but it was the same curly chestnut mass that he once longed to have spill across his naked chest. He could only stare as she apologized to Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry for interrupting their rehearsal, explaining that it was her fault because she insisted on seeing Meg and Giry as soon as possible upon arriving in Paris. They were her only family, you see, and it had been nearly a month since she had seen them.

The apology mollified everyone, and the frowns of most of the assembled dancers and musicians were converted into grins or at least polite nods. With the pause in rehearsal various discussions broke out, and Erik could not make out what the main players onstage were saying. Damn it! Why hadn't he taken the time to learn to read lips? Just as his frustration was reaching the breaking point, a vision in white materialized from the wings.

Gia.

With her head held high she gracefully walked onto the stage, a ghostly figure among all the colors around her. She stopped directly in front of Christine and her husband and made a deep bow, bent forward at the waist, her left hand almost touching the wooden boards of the stage as her right leg bent at the behind the left. At her act of great reverence, the voices in theater stopped their idle chatter. Gia did not budge until the viscomte told her to rise.

Erik was perched on the edge of his seat, wishing he could be down there with her to protect her from what must be being said about her. He forgot Christine. All that mattered was his beloved Gia. He had once thought Christine was an angel, but she paled in comparison next to the long limbed lady who had freely given him her heart. The woman who had accepted his flawed countenance and even more flawed soul, who endured his temper and his tendency to jump to conclusions all because she loved him. He marveled at her.

She spoke with Christine and the boy briefly before returning backstage, and shortly thereafter the party left and the rehearsal resumed. Erik barely paid attention to the rest of ballet, even when Gia was onstage. He simply had to know what had passed between Christine and her.

He would be waiting for her in her room.


	43. 43

**A/N: I hope everyone is having a pleasant Father's Day. I just finished this up, and I can't wait to hear all of your thoughts. I must say it was a bit daunting to write so much dialogue, but I think it came out alright. I look forward to all of your thoughts and comments.**

* * *

Erik had never been the most patient of men. He found himself nervously pacing around Gia's bedroom waiting for her to arrive. Of course he was well aware that since this had been a dress rehearsal, there was more than ample reason for her delay. First she would want to remove the stage make-up and have her hair taken down. Only then would she change out of the costume. Then she would want to sponge off before she dressed and returned to her room. He knew all these things, but he found the wait interminable.

The time dragged on, and the room was becoming oppressively hot. To relieve himself, he removed his mask, and cast aside his black tailcoat, burgundy brocade waistcoat, and black silk cravat. He loosened his shirt lawn shirt from the confines of his trousers, yet the heat remained. Erik could feel his shirt becoming damp in places, clinging to the overheated skin on his chest and back. In frustration he yanked the damp material over his head, leaving him naked to the waist.

It brought him little relief, and unless he wanted to greet Gia nude, there was no other clothing he could remove. He was overcome with the need to break something, anything, and his first thought was to tear into one of the old opera posters on the wall. The sweet sound of shredding the wooden fibers would calm him. There was one particularly obnoxious one of Maria Bianci dressed as Elissa from _Hannibal_. He had always hated it as it reminded him of the insufferable Carlotta.

He hooked his thick fingers into the large sheet of paper that was fragile with age, and was a heartbeat away from using it to exorcize his mounting rage when he noticed the window to cramped chamber was shut. He threw up the sash, and the cool air of the early evening swirled over him, finally giving him a reprieve he had been seeking. Erik's respiration returned to normal once he took in a few deep breaths of the twilight.

That was how Gia came upon him, his chest heaving, and his lips moving in a prayerful litany, his fists clenched as though he did not trust himself to control his hands. His eyes were tightly squeezed shut, highlighting the innumerable little lines around his astonishing eyes. She looked on his body in wonderment, transfixed at the sight of it. Male potency oozed from every pore. His chest and arms were firm and well muscled as though they were carved from fine marble. There was the barest hint of softness at his stomach, and her eyes followed the trail of dark hairs that vanished into his trousers. What was man this beautiful doing with her?

He was so lost in thought he had not heard her enter the room. His eyes only opened the moment the door clicked shut. The cause of his upset could either be her or Christine. Gia could not help but hope it was the latter rather the former.

She stood before him wearing one of her high-necked black dresses, the only visible skin her hands and face. It was a striking contrast between her and Erik whose clothes lay in a heap on her chair. His eyes were a wild shade of blue-green that nearly glowed in the low light of the room. Wordlessly she began to undo the buttons along the bodice of the gown, but she stopped when the cold night air caused goose-pimples to erupt all over her body.

"Erik, could you please shut that window. It's going to give me a chill if it stays open all night," she informed him.

With slightly hunched shoulders to indicate his displeasure, he went to the window and pulled the window down so forcefully, Gia was certain the panes were going to shatter. Thankfully, they only rattled in their grooves when the window came to abrupt, loud halt.

"There was no need for that, Erik. I did ask you nicely."

"I was hot," he stated as though it required some sort of explanation.

"There is something more going on here than you being overheated. Tell me what is gnawing at you this evening. I want you to confide in me," she simply asked him. "Was it something that happened at rehearsal?"

She knew him so well. For all he had thought himself a complex and difficult man to know, Gia's feminine intuition had rarely served her ill when it came to him. "I saw you and Christine together on the stage this afternoon. You two spoke briefly, and then her husband intervened. I need to know what happened. It's been all I could think about since I saw the three of you together," he said answering her without prevarication.

"After I made my bow Christine first inquired after my health and told me she was looking forward to seeing the performance. She then proceeded to invite me to dinner with her, her husband, and the Girys after the gala, an invitation I declined. She also asked if I would meet her for lunch tomorrow, and when I informed her I would be a poor companion since I have nothing but the ballet on my mind, Monsieur Dupoix intervened and insisted that I go. I was not about to cause a scene in front of the entire company so I agreed to go."

"And what did Monsieur le Viscomte want?" Erik asked, his eyes growing cold and hard.

"It would seem Raoul was planning to have lunch with Christine tomorrow. He asked her if he could dine with us, and she told him she preferred to speak to me alone. He was not pleased, Erik. I do not think he trusts to leave her alone."

So that was it? Prince Charming was that insecure he was afraid to leave his wife alone for an hour. There would have been a time when Erik would have been prepared to use that sort of information to his advantage. Instead it only disconcerted him further. Raoul was positively paranoid, and paranoid men do not act rationally. He had wanted to meet the man unarmed as a show of good faith, but that seemed rather reckless given the circumstances.

"Do you have an idea what she wants?" he inquired.

"I am assuming she wants to talk about you. Or perhaps she thinks that away from the opera house and your prying eyes she can determine if you spoke the truth in your letter. She almost assuredly has doubts that there is any real affection between us. I will do my best to ease her mind. Hopefully she will in turn speak to her husband. I do not think he will be so easily convinced though. That man is itching for a fight, Erik. I can feel it," she said, her voice shuddering. "I do not want to lose you."

Gia wanted to feel his arms around her shoulders. When they enfolded her, she felt safe and loved. Although she stood there with her dress half unbuttoned, she went to him. Her nose and mouth sought shelter against his neck, and his response was rock her gently as he hummed a soothing song to her. After the tremors subsided, and she had composed herself, Erik acted as her ladies maid and assisted Gia with undressing.

Her legs were unsteady from the exertion of rehearsal, and he felt guilty about his lascivious thoughts as he watched her tug off her chemise, leaving her bare before his eyes. A moment later the cool white cotton of her nightdress covered her, but in his mind's eye she was gloriously naked, her rich curves displayed to him. His cock hardened as he thought of the way her pert, full breasts felt in his hands, and the low moans she would make whenever he touched her. But that was something that would have to wait for another night. Her slow, heavy movements were as revealing if she had vocalized her desire for sleep.

Erik drew the sheets aside for her and she sunk into the bed, settling to the side furthest from the door, leaving room for him to join her. When he did not take his place by her side, she gave him a quizzical glance, her lips pursing slightly.

"Gia, I am going to leave you alone tonight. You are exhausted, and need your rest. In fact, it would probably be best if ceased spending my nights here until after the gala."

Her voice was thick and slurred slightly with slumber. "Stay, please."

"I will stay until you fall asleep, but then I am going back to the cellar. That bed is too cramped for both us anyway. Your legs will be happy for the extra room," he said keeping his voice light. A ghost of smile played across her lips, and she closed her eyes, signaling her assent to his wishes.

As she was carried away by dreams, he put shirt back on, but did not bother with the rest of his garb. Taking her leather bound copy of Shakespeare's collected works off the top shelf, he flipped through until he came to _Hamlet_. He had gotten as far as the entrance of the king's ghost when he decided he was in no mood to read of tragedy. He turned instead to _Much Ado About Nothing_ and found himself chuckling at the exploits of the caustic Benedick and the witty and wise Beatrice.

It struck him it would make a lovely light opera. He had always confined himself to very dramatic material overflowing with sensuality and pain. A project such as this would be a challenge. He looked up and seeing that Gia was sleeping peacefully, Erik took the heavy volume with him and returned to his lair.

It was only as the first rosy fingers of dawn touched the sky that he sought his bed. Already the overture was complete.

* * *

In order to accommodate Gia's lunch with the Viscomtess de Chagny, the rehearsal schedule was rearranged. During the morning the second act was performed with everyone in full costume so that Gia would not have to present at all for the afternoon. She was rather embarrassed at the added attention, and it was difficult to concentrate knowing that performance would be more scrutinized than ever. There would only be one more days of rehearsals, and then the opening performance would be Friday evening before a sold-out theater. Her focus should be on that, but between now and then she had to deal with Christine and her husband.

She hurried backstage to her dressing room once the practice was concluded, and with some assistance she dressed for lunch. She wore her best black dress which was a bit heavy for the warm April air, but there was nothing else appropriate for her to wear. The dress Erik had given her was suitable for a dinner engagement, but was far too formal for today. She spotted the carriage bearing the de Chagny crest almost immediately upon exiting the Metropolitan. A footman opened the door for her, and inside she found Christine waiting for her.

The viscomtess looked lovely in a butter-cream yellow dress edged with ecru lace. It was sophisticated yet not overdone. It was the perfect dress to prevent Gia from feeling ill at ease in the presence of a woman of means. No sooner had the door of the open carriage closed with a click, then Christine directed the driver to take them to a fashionable café near the Champs Elysées that she had heard of been never been to. They were seated almost immediately after they arrived, and the maitre d' waited on them personally.

Gia barely glanced at the menu and paid little attention to what she ordered. The man gave her an odd look which disappeared when Christine raised her eyebrows, a warning that he should simply comply with Gia's request and leave. The viscomtess exuded calm, her brown eyes soft and warm looking. They had only exchanged the required greetings when Gia entered the carriage, and other than that no conversation had taken place.

In the past two years, Christine had become accustomed to awkward social situations such as this one, so she was the one who ended the gulf of silence between them.

"The food here is excellent. This was one of the first places Raoul took me after I recovered from the incident. I felt so out of place, like I didn't belong. I imagine you feel much the same way."

Christine was a perceptive woman. Although she was eight years younger, there was a maturity there beyond her years. Gia supposed she had to grow up quickly once she left the Opera Populaire. "Indeed, I have never been very comfortable in places such as these. I feel like people are staring at me. I would much rather be anonymous and go unnoticed," Gia replied.

"In that way, you are not unlike Erik. More at ease in the shadows and the background rather than the forefront. Although he always did insist on making himself noticed. And he assumed that you wanted that as well. In that way, it would seem little of him has altered in the past two years," she reflected as she sipped her tea.

Gia blanched at the mention of Erik's name, and nearly choked on the piece of bread she was nibbling at. She set it down, and took a gulp of her coffee to keep it from sticking in her throat. "Yes, that is true. Were in not for him, I would not be in this production of _Giselle_ at all. I would take issue with you, that he has not changed, but I did not make his acquaintance until six weeks or so ago. I believe he is not proud of the man who tried to force you to marry him, but we have never discussed all that passed between you both in great detail. He did give me an idea of the events of that evening however."

"Did he tell you he was going to kill Raoul until I kissed him?"

"Yes. But he let you both go."

Christine was surprised he had been so forthright with her. She would have thought Erik would have spared her the truth as much as possible in order to get her to fall in love with him. There was little doubt in her mind that Gia cared deeply for the man she had once only known as her angel of music. At the mention of his name she had gotten a far away look in her eyes, betraying the fact she was thinking of him despite the fact she was with someone else.

"Do you know why he let us go?" she asked.

"I do not believe it is my place to say such things, Christine," Gia answered, using her Christian name, rather than the more formal title she was due. "I will leave it to him."

"I can see why he chose you, Gia. I was like you. Very meek, very sheltered by Madame Giry. I never thought to connect the fearsome Phantom of the Opera with the spirit coaching me in the chapel. And when he revealed himself to me, I could barely speak I was so taken with his physical beauty. I only realized later that he let me see only what he wanted me to see."

Gia's nostrils flared at Christine's remarks. Courtesy demanded that she not contradict the woman who had invited her out, but she could not stomach being insulted by her.

"Is it so impossible for you to believe that he would prefer me to you? I know I do not possess your beauty or your voice. I am more than aware of how far short I come in comparison to you. I have hated you for that. I still fear I might lose him to you. But I do know he loves me." It was nearly impossible for Gia to keep her voice at the proper level for respectable conversation. A part of her wanted to slap her for the cutting remark.

"How can you be so convinced?"

"His eyes do not lie."

Christine was about to respond when a waiter arrived with their lunches. Gia looked at the plate set before her, and realized why she had received the perturbed glance earlier: she had ordered breakfast. On the gleaming white china sat a mound of perfectly scrambled eggs, along with hot buttered and toasted French bread, and a slice of pink ham. Her expression must have been comical because she could hear Christine's lilting laugh.

"Only a woman in love would make such a mistake," she giggled, reverting for a moment to the days when she used to gossip with Meg about anyone and anything at the Populaire. The girlishness did not last long, as her dark eyes became serious and she said, "You are right about his eyes. They are not capable of masking his true emotions."

For several long minutes, the two women sat and ate. Mostly, they pushed the food around pretending to enjoy it, but actually consuming little.

When it became clear neither was going to keep up the pretense of eating any longer, Christine reopened the conversation.

"Erik said in his letter that you two were engaged. I notice you do not wear a ring."

Gia gave the viscomtess an icy glare and shot back, "You do not wear one either."

The other women responded archly, "I do not wear one because Erik has it. Did he share that with you, Mademoiselle Burnside?"

Gia's initial response was look daggers at the viscomtess and hope the woman would collapse from the weight of Gia's stare. She nearly hissed at her, "Yes. He told me you gave it to him to remember him by. Was that the truth?"

"I gave it to him after he let us go. We had started to leave, and I realized I would never see him again, and I told Raoul I wanted to go back. I found him singing to his little music box, and then he looked at me so hopefully I was almost unable to leave him again. I did give him the ring so that he would not forget me. I thought it would be a comfort to him in his last hours. I was certain the mob would find him, and I felt he deserved to have something of mine at the end.

You see, Gia, I loved him. Perhaps not in the same manner that you love him, but I loved him. There were times I wished I could have been to him everything he wanted me to be, but my heart was with Raoul. Leaving Erik to die was the most difficult thing I have ever done. I knew I was the ultimate cause of his undoing, and that has always stayed with me. If you have brought him happiness, perhaps I can begin to forgive myself for that."

Christine's admission that she felt responsible for what happened that night gave Gia pause. "You should not blame yourself, Christine there is plenty of blame to be laid at the feet of everyone involved. It would seem that you want to see Erik to talk about that night as much as he does."

"Will you be there?"

"My place is at his side. He may need me."

There was a double meaning in that. Gia would offer him emotional as well as physical support. She did not doubt the woman could be as a valkyrie, fierce and willing to fight to death to protect the man she loved. Raoul would be unwise to cross her.

Turning the conversation to a slightly different topic, she inquired as to when Gia and Erik planned to marry. That brought a smile to her lunch companion's face.

"A week from today at St. Etienne's. It will be a small private ceremony, but Erik has insisted on going to the trouble of having a wedding gown made for me. The only people who will see it will be him, the priest, and possibly the Girys."

"He invited them?" Christine knew that Madame Giry had known Erik for quite some time, but he had never spoken with Meg to her knowledge. And he was having a gown made? To have one done so quickly would cost him a fortune.

"I invited them," Gia clarified. "Madame Giry is a kind woman, and he is almost a brother to her. Meg is a dear girl and I like her even if she can be nosy as times. But if they cannot be there, I will understand. As long as Erik is there it will be perfect."

"What are you going to do once you are married?" Christine found herself asking. "I cannot imagine Erik is ready to hold himself out to the public as a husband."

"Truly, Christine, I do not know what is going to happen after we are married. I tell myself I shall take matters as they come. For now, I will be content to be his wife," she concluded.

"Gia, I hope you will forgive me for asking you this, but I must know. Have you seen what he looks like without his mask?" It was terribly intrusive and gauche thing for her to ask, but Christine well remembered what his reaction had been when she had taken his mask off. She had been intensely curious to see what he looked like, and it had not occurred to her that he was hiding behind it for a reason. Had he shared his great shame with Gia? If he had, she would be more willing to believe there was no pretence involved.

"Yes. He does not wear it when we are together."

"I find that difficult to believe. He flew into quite the temper when I removed it."

"Perhaps it is because you removed it without asking, Christine. Now, let me ask you a question: Did you reject him because of his face? Because he was less than perfect?"

The viscomtess murmured the word "no" so quietly Gia barely heard her, as though she was ashamed at her forwardness. She continued, "His face was a shock, but it did not disgust me. I was frightened of him. He was too intense. I sensed that there was something not right about the way he regarded me. His appearance was not my main consideration."

"I hope you will tell him that tomorrow. It might go a long way to convincing him he does not need to hide away from life," Gia replied. "I want you to know that I will not let you or your husband hurt him again."

The woman in the yellow dress took a final sip of her tea, and nodded in agreement and understanding. In that moment a silent pact was forged between the two women. They would both do what was in Erik's best interests. United in their mutual love for him, they would both act as his protectors against Raoul if need be.

On the carriage ride back to the Metropolitan, Christine vowed that she would speak to her husband. She apologized for any rudeness she might have displayed over lunch and explained that her goal had been to try to get a hold on what Gia felt for Erik without her husband present. Although they did not shake hands or even exchange the usual parting pleasantries, both women left feeling far more sure the past need not be repeated tomorrow evening.

That evening Christine gave a narrative of the afternoon events to her husband, hoping to convince him there was little reason to think Erik would try to harm either of them. His response had been to largely ignore her and concentrate on testing the sharpness of his saber with a sheet of paper.


	44. 44

**A/N: I promise, despite the ending, this is not quite the last chapter! I've got a bit more to go. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it. I greatly look forward to reading all of your reactions to it.**

* * *

Erik spent nearly the entire day lost in composing his new opera. The hours slipped by quickly, and it was not until late in the evening when he remembered that today Gia was meeting Christine for lunch. Had he even eaten today? His stomach grumbled angrily, a reminder that he had gone too long without sustenance. There was nothing for him to eat but a bit of stale bread which he choked down with some lukewarm coffee. Having eased his hunger pangs, he made straight for Gia's room.

When he arrived his fiancée was making herself ready for bed, and she looked rather peeved that he was just now coming to see her.

"I see you have made time in your busy schedule to see me! Do you have any idea what I endured today at the hands of Madame la Viscomtess? She was insufferably rude and made me feel terribly inadequate. If I did not think we needed her to convince her husband that you are not dangerous I would have poured hot tea in her lap!" she raged at him, her curls flying as the emotion overtook her.

"And then, after lunch she apologized. It seems it was all some sort of test to discern how I feel about you. It would seem my word was not enough for her! But it would seem I passed muster with your former songbird. The only good to come of it is that I can tell you she desires no harm to come to you."

She was a magnificent creature when she became impassioned. It was in moments like these he imagined she was most like her mother. Gia always worked hard to keep her emotions in check, but when they came spilling forth, they sometimes threatened to sweep him away. Had she been complaining about another woman he might have been tempted to exact creative revenge on her behalf. Had Christine changed so much in the intervening years that she would use her social status as a weapon?

He sat down on her bed, and patted his lap, indicating she should sit there. Erik watched as she hesitated for a moment, carefully considering his proposal. She was still so uncertain of her body even after all they had done together.

Gia sat down gingerly, putting her arms around her fiancé's neck. "I'm not too heavy, am I?" she asked, her blue eyes searching his.

"No. I like having you close to me." He was rewarded with Gia cuddling close to him, her hands playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. After a few moments, she held herself away from him so they could talk.

"Thank you for being patient with me, Erik. I should not have said what I did about Christine. But I was just so damned angry at her insinuations she somehow knew you better than me."

"It's fine, my love. If she was as uncouth as you say, you have every right to have a bit of fit. Goodness knows you shall have to put up with my tempers from time to time. It's only fair that I should try to understand yours," he said soothingly, keeping his voice soft and low.

Erik brought his hands up to brush some the curls away from her face, and it was only then Gia noticed the ink stains on his hands and shirtsleeves. The black stains were all over his fingertips, as though he had dipped them in the ink. In her minds eye she could see him writing furiously, his hands endeavoring to keep up with his formidable brain.

"I see you have been working. I should have been so cross with you. I'm certain it's all for a wonderful cause."

"I am working on a new opera," he admitted, "I haven't tried to write something on this scale since _Don Juan Triumphant_. It's unlike anything I've ever done."

"Really? How so?" she inquired, curious to understand her often mercurial husband to be.

"You know my music as well as anyone, how would you describe it?"

She thought a moment before she answered, "Melancholy. Passionate. Intense. Like you."

His lips curled into one his rare smiles, as looked deep into Gia's fathomless eyes. "Exactly. This is a much lighter piece, and I believe I have you to thank for that."

"_Moi_? I do not deserve that sort of credit. You have changed on your own. I may have helped a bit, but if you had not wanted to change, you would still me the same man who destroyed the Opera Populaire."

Erik stopped her mouth with a searing kiss, leaving her breathless and wanting. His lips were so soft against hers, his tongue caressing and teasing the inner recesses of her mouth. He made her feel like the most beautiful woman alive whenever he touched her. When his lips drew away from hers, she shuddered, yearning for their sweet torture.

"Your contribution was a most vital one. Last night I sat here reading your adored Bard, and I decided one of his delightful comedies would make a lovely opera." He stilled her mouth before she could ask which one, "No questions about which play I have chosen. It may turn out to be nothing in the end."

"Why is it I doubt you would be working so fervently if it was nothing? I shall look forward to hearing it, Erik," she said, the corners of her delectable mouth turning up slightly.

"Now, where were we?" he asked seriously before he returned is mouth to hers, his hands undoing the ribbon around her neck before he slipped them underneath the white nightgown to cup her breasts. Her hum of satisfaction as he stroked them lightly caused him to growl, wanting to give her even more pleasure.

Gia could feel herself already growing damp as he laid her back onto the bed in a smooth movement, his hands splayed against the bare skin of her back. Once she was laying back, her lips parted in anticipation for him, he removed his mask, and divested himself of his ruined shirt exposing his large expanse of chest. She was exquisitely trapped between his powerful thighs, and though her brain was telling her they should not be doing this because she needed to save her energy for the final rehearsal tomorrow, the rest of her was impatient for his heated entry.

Together they pulled off her nightgown, and for a moment he simply stared at her, drinking in the sight of her rosy skin, flushed with passion for him. He ran one ink stained hand along the curves of her torso, and her little sighs along with her twitching hips told him she wanted this as much as he did. His trousers had become a maddening inconvenience, and when he fumbled with the buttons, she tore them open, sending the fastenings flying.

He arched a dark eyebrow at her as he removed them, and when he knelt on the mattress, he was surprised when she rose on her knees in turn so they might explore each other's bodies. Hands and mouths were everywhere, no words being necessary between them. Their actions were an expression of everything they felt for each other, there was fire and gentleness in equal measure, as the partners only sought to please the other.

Erik turned her away from him, whispering to Gia to bend forward and place her hands on the mattress, to which she gave him an arch look over her right shoulder before she did as he asked. In this position she felt wide open and exposed, strangely vulnerable. All at once his hands were gripping her hips as he thrust into her from behind, and she began to push back as she found the rhythm he had started.

As he brought his hands to caress her sensitive breasts, she could feel his chest against her back, and it excited her even further. His body felt heavy and slick, and he felt like he was everywhere at once, as one hand dipped into her core, stroking the folds of her femininity and then tweaking the spot between her legs that never failed to send her hurtling over the edge.

Using his arms and hips as leverage, he craned her body up against his so he could get even deeper inside her. It was never enough. He would never tire of the feeling of her around him, giving herself to him. With another thrust she was arching her back into the deep c-curve he had come to know so well, and he murmured "I love you"s into her ear as she quivered around him. It was only then that he allowed himself to come, clutching her tight to his chest so she would not fall.

"Oh Erik," she sighed nearly out of breath from their mutual exertions, "how do you make it better every time?"

"You are my inspiration," he said as he removed the French letter and tossed it into her waste basket.

When he returned to the bed, they curled around each other, and as sleep began to overtake them, she asked, "Do you think it's this good for everyone else?" His musical chuckle against her neck answered her query.

* * *

The final dress rehearsal passed in a blur for Gia. The morning had begun with Erik waking her and assisting her with dressing. She had been about to leave without her pointe slippers when he pressed them into her hands with a teasing kiss. He informed her he was planning to spend the day attending to his new opera, but that he would be sure to be waiting for her after rehearsal. She had returned his kiss with a smile, and told him to try not to too carried away so that he was late for the meeting with the de Chagnys. He had nodded in return before he left her through the wardrobe.

The dress rehearsal itself was not particularly memorable. In the morning they performed a full run though that was more than adequate. It was by no means stellar, but it would be enough not to ruin the Metropolitan. Meg had been wonderful, and Gia took heart that if only one thing came out of the production of _Giselle_, it would be the praise the young Mademoiselle Giry was sure to receive. She would probably receive an offer from the Royal Ballet Company and Monsieur Dupoix would be forced to renegotiate Meg and Madame Giry's contract if he wished to hold on to them both.

Gia deemed her own performance merely satisfactory. She was a bit off during the long sequence of turns that was the highlight of her solo. As a result, Gia was among the cast members required to attend the afternoon rehearsal where Madame Giry drilled them on the sequences that needed the most work. Unfortunately, Gia's nerves got the best of her after being singled out as a problem and she performed worse during the afternoon. She saw the grimaces on the faces of Madame Giry, Dupoix, and even Monsieur Reyer. They all looked dreadfully disappointed in her.

Curse them for their damn high expectations of her! Was it not enough that she was dancing in a leading role when most ballerinas her age where confined to tiny solo roles or the back lines of the corps de ballet? Gia knew it was not. Most critics would not make allowances for her age and relative inexperience. Everyone would have to hope that she performed better tomorrow evening.

As a result, Gia was in a foul mood while the two assistant seamstresses helped her undress and remove her make-up. When one of them dared say that she would do better the next day, Gia lost her temper, and told the woman the last thing she needed was encouragement from someone who had no idea what she was talking about. The woman had teared up, and Gia immediately apologized, explaining that her frustration was with herself and that she should not be angry with them for attempting to comfort her. That had mollified the young seamstress who said Gia just needed to stop worrying because everyone knew she was more than capable of performing the steps.

Gia thanked the women again, and once they left her she slipped on the engagement ring Erik had given her. She looked at the sparkling stone, and decided that tomorrow night she would wear it even if it would lead to questions. This way she would have something of Erik close to her. He had promised that he would attend, but Gia knew he could very well miss it if he was busy composing. There was also the possibility he would want to avoid the production in case Gia turned into a disaster of epic proportions.

When she arrived in her room, Erik was waiting for her, looking incredibly handsome and forbidding all at once. He had chosen to wear nothing but black this evening, with only the tips of his shirt collar the only spot of white visible, save his mask. His elaborate cravat was affixed with a simple gold pin. He was also wearing his full length cape, and Gia could see a tell tale bulge at his left hip, indicating he had come armed.

The two of them made quite the somber looking pair as Gia was also wearing black, although her ring glinted as it caught some of the flames from the candles that Erik had lit. The candles were an addition to the few gas lamps Gia had in her room. He explained that he wanted the de Chagnys to see them both as well as possible so there could be no mistaking their intentions.

Around 7:30 in the evening a knock came at Gia's door, and a man dressed in navy blue livery with gold trim indicated that the de Chagny carriage had arrived. Gia followed him down to the stables and greeted the noble couple with a curtsey before asking them to follow her. As she bowed her head, she noted that viscomte was similarly armed as Erik had been. At least they would be equals on that score.

"This place is as much of a labyrinth as the Populaire was!" Christine exclaimed rather nervously as they made their way up to the dormitories. The closer they got, the more color was draining away from her already pale face. The only color was her rouge, which stood in stark contrast to the rest of her. She had chosen to wear an ivory gown, and had her hair dressed with several diamond pins clinging to her brown curls. It was her hope that it would remind Erik of the night when she had triumphed on stage.

Uncannily, Raoul was also garbed similar to how he had been that night, although the carefully sharpened sword was an addition to his ensemble. He had said nothing to Gia, although she did not miss his somewhat startled expression when he saw her ring.

"We are here," she announced rather unnecessarily as they reached her door, and she pushed the heavy door open slowly to reveal Erik standing imposingly in the door frame, his arms at his sides.

He turned to the side allowing all of them to pass, and once Raoul shut the door behind them, Erik dipped into a more formal bow, saying, "Good evening, Monsieur le Viscomte. And you as well, Madame."

No one breathed for a moment as Christine and her husband gazed upon the man who had once been their enemy, who stood before them his head down in a gesture of subservience.

"Erik, there is no need for that. Neither Raoul or I require or care for you to be so formal with us," Christine said, breaking the silence, her voice quavering. The shaking only worsened when Erik raised his head, and she caught his blue-green eyes burning through the mask. Raoul gripped her arm to steady her, and Gia offered the viscomtess her reading chair. The young woman whispered her thanks, and took the proffered seat.

"I told you this would be a bad idea, Christine. Look, you are already upset and he has barely said anything!" the viscomte grumbled, and without further ado, he reached for and drew his sword.

Erik saw the movement of the young man's hand and he had his sword raised and ready to engage him. With more courage then she felt, Gia got between the two men, making it impossible for them to do anything without possibly injuring her.

"Put those damn things away, the both of you! There is no need for that! Besides, I don't know how you propose to duel in this room where there is barely room to swing a cat," she admonished both men. Raoul hesitated, but when he saw Erik returning his sword to his hilt, he did the same.

"As always, you show superior judgment, my love," Erik purred. "I would hate to have to damage any of your things giving this boy a lesson in manners."

At that Raoul snorted derisively, and smirked, "Let us not forget who won the last engagement between us when swords were involved."

"And you should not forget the only reason why you are standing there breathing is because of the lady sitting in that chair," Erik gestured with his head. "Do not make me regret the one moment of mercy I showed you, boy."

"Don't call me "boy", you monster! I'm more of a man than you ever will be!"

"I believe Mademoiselle Burnside would beg to disagree with you on that point," Erik intoned, his voice tipped with disdain for the man before him.

"Stop it! Will you both stop it! Are you through proving your wretched masculinity to each other?" shouted Christine, finding her voice and rising out of the chair, by gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles had gone white. "We came here to talk not to fight. Can we not behave like adults?"

"I would have to agree with Christine," added Gia. "There is nothing for you to fight over any longer."

Raoul turned to look at Gia. "Mademoiselle Burnside, please do not take this the wrong way, but why should I believe you? What assurance can you possibly give me that he is no longer interested in my wife? I do not doubt that he has found a way to work his devilish charms on you and make you care for him. But you cannot hold a candle to my wife who he composed an opera and destroyed a public building for."

Erik's eyes blazed, and he was about to hurl himself at the viscomte and wring the life from his worthless body when a most surprising thing happened: Gia struck him. Hard. Her right hand flew and struck the young man squarely on the cheek, leaving a red palm print behind. The viscomte was so startled her merely gaped at Gia as he brought one hand up to touch his face.

Nothing was said for a moment until Raoul, took his wife by the wrist and said, "Come Christine, we do not have to stay here. I told you this was pointless."

"No Raoul," she contradicted, "I am staying here. And let me be the first to say, you rather deserved that. If Gianna hadn't done it, I would have. You are acting like silly jealous boy."

Erik was about to say something to the effect that Raoul would do well to heed his wife, but Gia shot him a glance that told him to hold his tongue.

"You would take their part in this, Christine? Have you forgotten what he did to us two years ago? He was going to force himself on you! Take you away from the world! Remember how you begged me in that chapel to protect you from him? And now you stand here telling me I am acting silly! I am your husband, damn it, and I love you! I will not let him hurt you!" He sighed, "Why did you even marry me if you care for him so much?"

Christine looked at her husband whose eyes were filled with unasked questions. "I told you, Raoul, I married you because I loved you. I still love you. That does not mean I felt nothing for him! He was quite overpowering to me. I knew nothing of men, and he made me feel things that I did not know could exist between two people. You cannot know how confusing it was for me. My heart was with you, but my body wanted you both."

Her confession shook Erik so greatly, he had to sit down on Gia's bed. There it was. He had not totally misread her after all. She had wanted him. Wanted him in the way a woman wants a man, and it had not been out of pity either. He had aroused her, but her love for Raoul had been the reason she had made her choice. It was only now that he had found love himself that he could begin to understand her confusion. Had he been faced with choosing between Gia and Christine, he only hoped he would be able to go with the woman who held his heart.

"Christine, I am so so sorry for what I did. I was obsessed. I, ----there is no good excuse for what I did to you. What I did to you both," he apologized, his eyes welling with tears.

Gia was unable to let him sit there alone, and sat next to him, taking him in her arms, offering him her shoulder. "There Erik, you have said your peace. It is over now. It is all over," she cooed softly into his ear, rocking him gently.

Raoul could only stare as the Phantom clung to Mademoiselle Burnside as though she was a piece of wood keeping him from drowning. He had seen the fearsome man like this once before. When he had broken down on that night, his body language had been similar, but then there had been no one to comfort him. There was no fear in the young woman's eyes as she held him. They shone with deep affection, and Raoul turned away when she carefully lifted his mask to kiss his tears away. She then replaced it with equal care, and he brought his leather gloved hand over hers, holding it briefly as he looked into her eyes.

"Look at them, Raoul," said Christine softly as she took her place by her husband's side holding his hand.

They both looked on as the two lovers simply gazed at each other, almost oblivious to their presence in the room. Raoul felt like a blackguard for his earlier accusations. These two were deeply in love. One only had to see them together like this and it was evident. It would seem the Phantom had found his lady. Somewhat begrudgingly Raoul had to admit, they did make a handsome couple.

"We should go, Christine," he said, eager to be out of the small room. His remark jerked the Phantom and Gia back to reality, and they both stood, and faced him and Christine.

"It would seem I have misjudged you both," he admitted. "I hope you both can be happy together. Love does not always make life easy. In fact, it can make life damned inconvenient at times."

"Oh hush, Raoul. We should leave these two alone. We shall see them both tomorrow anyway. You know, you both ought to come to supper with us!" the young woman enthused.

"Christine, as much as I would like to say yes to your invitation, I doubt your husband wants to spend an evening with Gia and me. I will not impose myself upon him. And let us not forget, there is still this to contend with," Erik said, gesturing to his mask.

It was difficult, but Raoul forced himself to use the Phantom's name. "Erik, I can promise you, I have seen worse than your mask on the faces of some of the finest families in France. It would be simple to explain that you were burned in accident and no one would think to question you about the mask otherwise. If anything, it would make an interesting conversation piece."

"The last thing I want is to be whispered about," Erik replied. "But I will take your suggestion under advisement."

He held fast to Gia's hand, and Christine beamed at him.

"Erik, I am so glad you are happy!" she cried, giving him a warm kiss on the cheek and a quick hug before she returned to her husband's side. "We will find our way back to the stables."

Gia and Erik followed the couple to the door, and before leaving, Raoul extended his hand toward Erik. As the two men shook hands, the viscomte said, "Forgiven then, Erik?"

"Forgiven, Raoul de Chagny."

When the door closed behind the young couple, Erik threw himself around his bride to be, lifting her up and spinning her around before setting her back down on her bed. The long sad saga of the Phantom of the Opera was finally over.


	45. 45

**A/N: I initially thought this would be my last chapter, but I decided that for reasons of length, I'll probably finish up in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy this, and I apologize for taking so long. I would have done this yesterday, but I spent the Fourth of July in bed feeling miserably ill. Not the frame of mind I wanted to be in to write most of this. So please, read and review!**

* * *

Today was finally the day, the gala premiere of _Giselle_ at the Metropolitan Opera House. Erik had several errands he needed to do before this evening, but it had been with great reluctance that he had left Gia's side that morning. He had dressed silently, not wanting to wake her, but before he left he pressed his lips to hers and that was enough to wake her. He had meant to only kiss her goodbye, but one thing had led to another, and before long he was back in the bed with her. The coupling was wild and frenzied with Gia showing uncustomary aggression as she took control and rode him until they were both spent with their excesses.

As the performance was this evening, there would be no rehearsals. They could spend all day like this. The idea was not without its appeal, but Erik could tell there was something else behind her actions. Gia was restless and nervous. She tensed up almost immediately after they had made love, and her eyes had that far away look he had come to associate with her mind being somewhere else.

"It's going to fine, my love. Stop worrying. I will be there. Just think on that," he said, trying to be as helpful as possible. However his words had the opposite effect.

Turning on to her side, and running a finger though his hair, her eyes full of concern, she asked, "Erik, will you still love me if I fail tonight?" She then abruptly turned her face away, and placed her head in her hands.

"Oh God, that sounds utterly ridiculous!" she exclaimed, disgusted she would be so needy as to even ask that question.

Erik held her close to his chest and reassured her, "Of course I will still love you! I believe in you, Gia. But if that does not comfort you, do not dwell on it." God, her body felt so perfect against his, as though this was the way they were intended to be together. Naked and unashamed.

She gripped his shoulders tightly, not wanting to him to leave her. She wanted to make last night last as long as possible. Once he left, she would have to face the reality that in a few hours she would be onstage in front of most of the upper-crust of Parisian society. Erik apologized as he extracted himself from her, and she watched him as he re-dressed.

Giving her a light kiss on the cheek, he made her promise she would not exhaust herself by doing any practicing in her room. Gia promised, but no sooner had he left, than she dragged herself from the bed, and put on her practice uniform. Erik was correct that she should get her rest, but she needed to stretch. The last thing she needed was to get a cramp in the middle of the performance because she had failed to listen to the needs of her body now.

Gia spent a good fifteen minutes putting her body through its paces gently, getting the muscles warm, so that later that evening she would not be stiff. But once that was done, she found herself at a loss for what to do. She would not see Erik until after the performance, and she did not have to report to her dressing room for several hours.

Under her breath she cursed herself for not being able to distract Erik longer. In a fit of pique, she undressed and crawled back into bed, knowing the rest would do her good. Suprisingly, she fell asleep with ease. It seemed Gia was still physically and emotionally exhausted from the evening before.

* * *

Erik dashed about Paris, almost frantic to finish his errands. There was only one stop left to make, and that was at a florist's shop. Clutching his other packages, he explained his order to the stammering assistant whose brown eyes widened when he told her he needed flowers for three different women. He wanted two arrangements sent to the Metropolitan as soon as possible, but he would take one for himself.

The flowers were, of course, for Gia, Madame Giry, and young Meg. For Antoinette, he selected a mixture of flowers, which included sunny yellow roses and white lilies. For the young ballerina, it was a bouquet of various pink blossoms broken up with occasional spring of baby's breath. It was sweet and pretty, and could not be mistaken as a gift from a potential lover. For Gia, his first instinct had been order her the traditional red roses, but instead he chose an elegant mix of ivory and light peach roses, and instructed the girl that under no circumstances was she to add any extra greenery to fill the bouquet out.

"But sir, the arrangement will not be very large! And it will look so plain!" she had protested, but when he glowered at her she scampered off to select the flowers, and returned ten minutes later with the simple bouquet that he lay on top his other packages. The girl promised that the other arrangements would arrive sometime during the afternoon, and reminded him if he wanted his flowers to stay fresh, they should be kept in plenty of fresh, clean water until he left for the performance.

Once he was back in lair, Erik first did as the girl instructed and set Gia's bouquet in a vase. Thereafter, he undid the paper and string around his other purchases, and for a while he contemplated what he was about to do. He was going attend the ballet as though he were any other aficionado of the arts. He had purchased a ticket, albeit through unorthodox means, and he would join the throngs of people who were sure to cheer the production.

It was in many ways rather amusing that he, of all people, would be so nervous about attending the theater. He had done it hundreds of times over the years, and in the last two when he had traveled he had regularly viewed plays and operas, but never had he sat out in the open in Paris. Even in Milan where he had taken in an entire season at La Scala, he had always been careful to shield himself from the public. He paid one of the young stable boys to let him in through a side door so he would not be forced to mingle with anyone. He had often remained in his box seat until the cleaning women would make their appearances to remove any detritus left behind by the patrons before he would make his escape.

This evening that would not be an option. Tonight he would go backstage once the performance was completed, and he would be there, flowers in hand, to see Gia whether the production was a success or failure. He had given his word to her that he would be there, and he would not disappoint the woman he loved.

Lying amongst the crimson sheets was his newly cleaned and pressed formal dress suit. He had not worn it since he last attended a production of _Faust_ in London. Frankly, he detested the white ties that were _de rigueur_ for a gala opening. Erik found the artfully pinned black cravats much more dashing, but he was not about to draw attention to himself by not dressing appropriately. He would be conspicuous as it was. He had learned from years of watching productions at the Populaire that the set of people who attended the opera were often on the lookout for newcomers. Whispers would fly about any new face, and speculation would be rife about the poor lady or gentleman's origins and wealth.

It had been the same when he had traveled. Often people would look at him for a few seconds then turn to their companion and begin murmuring about the tall fellow in the white mask. On more than one occasion, he had stifled the desire to pull off his mask to really give them something to whisper about. Tonight he would have to employ the social niceties he had never had the occasion to use living as he did on the periphery of society.

To relax, Erik took a long bath, soaking in the large wooden tub. He had accidentally poured in Gia's favorite lavender bath oil, and now he would have to attend the opera smelling like an herb garden. Hopefully no one would get too close and notice. Gia would probably laugh later at his absentmindedness.

He leaned back against the wooden sides, and tipped his head up, closing his eyes to think. In a few days he would be Gia's husband. Husband. That was never a word he thought would describe him. After last night he was resolved that they could not make their lives together down here. This evening would be his first venture in becoming a permanent fixture in the world. He would compose, and she could continue to work if she chose to do so. It would most likely mean leaving Paris behind them, but neither had especially happy memories of the place. Only those that they had made together were the one's dear to him. For that reason alone, he would miss this place.

Erik to special care dressing and preparing himself, and it took him a half-hour longer than it should have. It had taken him ten minutes to get the wretched tie up to his personal standards. As it was a warm evening, he would not even have the protection of his cloak. Taking one last look at himself in his mirror, he grabbed Gia's flowers, and made for the gondola.

* * *

In another part of the opera house, Gianna Burnside was undergoing her transformation from ordinary woman to Myrta, Queen of the Wilis. Perhaps undergoing was too mild a word, "enduring" was more appropriate. With the two women fussing over her dress, hair, and make-up it was impossible for her to relax. She would admit though, that with their assistance she certainly looked the part. Now there would be nothing for her to do but warm her feet up until it was time for the second act.

She was mentally going over the steps of her solo when a knock at the door broke her concentration. Gia cursed under her breath, but she nodded to the assistant wardrobe mistress that whoever it was should be admitted. She craned her neck around and standing in the doorway was Monsieur Dupoix holding a box.

"I brought something for you, Gianna," he explained, proffering the box in her direction.

Gia opened the box carefully, and inside was a small tiara constructed of pearls. She closed the lid, and handed it back to him. "I cannot accept such a gift from you, Monsieur Dupoix. I am not worthy of it."

"No Gia, you must take it! I saw it in a window, and I thought it would be a good addition to your costume. Every queen should have her crown. The jeweler agreed to loan it to the Metropolitan for the length of _Giselle_. So you see my dear, there is no reason why you should not wear it!"

The older man opened the box, took the tiara out and placed it on the top of her hair. It nestled perfectly amongst the curls, and one of the girls in the room quickly secured it in place with several hair pins.

"There now, Gia, you look lovely. Best of luck this evening," he said with all the confidence of a proud father. Gia sprung up from her seat in the chair before the vanity mirror, and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bright red lip mark behind.

"Thank you, my dear, although Madam Dupoix will ask how this managed to get here," he joked, which caused to break up some of the tension that Gia was feeling. He gave her a warm embrace in return, and then left to join his wife in the manager's box. Gia reapplied the red lip rouge, and promised not to kiss anyone else until the performance was over. The two young girls giggled, and Gia informed them they were free to leave if they wanted to assist any of the other cast members who might need their help. Both were bright enough to realize that Gia was nicely asking for some time alone, and they retreated for the door.

Alone at last, Gia slipped on her engagement ring, and prayed aloud earnestly, "Please God, all I ask is that I not make a fool of myself!"

* * *

As he expected, the whispers began from the moment he passed through the front door of the Metropolitan. Ladies dripping in diamonds clung to their husbands' or lovers' arms, and nearly everyone gave him a second look as he passed by. He slipped a white gloved hand inside his tailcoat and withdrew his ticket which he handed to the usher. He gestured with his head toward the long staircase that would take him to his box.

Erik caught a few snatches of conversation here and there. He distinctly heard "strange man" and "alone", and one Englishman loudly intoned in dreadful French, "What the hell is someone like that doing here?" Leave it to the English to be less than subtle.

At the top of the staircase, he showed his ticket to a different usher, and he handed Erik a program, and then showed him to the box. The young man had no reaction at all to him, and Erik gave the boy a large tip, which caused the ghost of a smile to break out. Once alone, he settled himself into the comfortable well-sprung red velvet seat. He immediately noted several pairs of opera glasses were trained on his box, but Erik did his best to look absorbed in the program, and pay them no mind. Seeing Gia's name in print caused him to tremble slightly, but other than that, he displayed no emotion.

All was going quite well until he heard Christine's unmistakable voice coming from behind him. It was only then looked at all of the boxes and realized that de Chagnys were nowhere to be seen. They must be in the box directly adjacent to his! Erik could hear Christine enthusing about how excited she was to see Meg dance again, and Raoul was doing an excellent impression of sounding interested in her ramblings. He watched as the young couple took their seats, and then began looking around the large theater. It was Raoul who saw him first, and then nudged his wife to turn to the left.

Her mouth was parted in a wide smile as she turned, and for a moment it faltered upon seeing him, but then widened again. Christine found it almost difficult to believe her eyes. Sitting before her, dressed in white tie and black tails was Erik, the infamous Phantom of the Opera, and he was not wearing his mask.

His hair looked perfect, so he had to be wearing a wig, and aside from his drooping eyelid and slightly spread nose, it was difficult to tell Erik suffered from any sort of deformity. She had remembered how red the skin had looked on the right side of his face, but it was not apparent this evening. It would seem he had covered it with makeup. It was only upon lingering over his face would one notice all the flaws.

She could recall vividly the words he had rained down upon her when she tore his mask off in her curiosity. She could hear him calling himself a "loathsome gargoyle" and "disgusting carcass". That he could now venture into public without it was something of a miracle.

His face was passive, but she could see by the way he was gripping the program that he was nervous and seized by doubts. She noticed that there were people staring at him, trying to get a better look at the new, strange face in the crowd. Christine did the one thing she could that would help him. She spoke to him.

In a gay voice, she called over to him, "Monsieur Erik, how lovely to see you here this evening! And right next to my husband and I! This is a welcome surprise, isn't it Raoul?"

The young viscomte played along and spoke loud enough for several patrons to hear, "It is, my dear! Who would have thought we'd see your old family friend at the Metropolitan? You never told me he enjoyed the ballet!"

Instantly tongues were set to wagging that the odd looking gentleman in the box next to the de Chagnys was a friend of the viscomtess. Several mothers made mental notes to make inquiries into his marital status. The man might not be perfectly handsome, but there were certainly uglier gentlemen to be had, and this one was friendly with a powerful family. It more than made up for any facial defects.

Across from the young couple, Erik nodded his head in silent acknowledgement of what they had just done for him. He mouthed "Thank you," and Christine returned with "My pleasure." The tittering subsided after a few moments, and then the sounds of the orchestra tuning up began to resound through the theater. It was nearly time to begin.

Monsieur Reyer was the next person to appear, taking his position in front where he could direct the musicians and have a good view of the stage. He tapped his baton three times and raised it. When it descended the overture began, and all eyes became fixed on the stage. The massive midnight blue curtain rumbled open, and on view was the edge of a woodland glade and close by the outskirts of a village. Albrecht, Duke of Silesia entered in disguise, as a woodcutter, followed by his faithful retainer, and the ballet quickly was underway.

The first act was progressing quite nicely, Erik thought as Meg whirled and turned flirting with disguised duke and the game-keeper Hilarion. She danced as though she had not a care in the world. Meg paid no heed when the dancer playing her mother admonished her to be careful, lest she end up one of the woodland spirits of girls who died because they were foolish in matters of the heart. She was young and had no thought love could bring grave disappointment.

But alas, everything went wrong the jealous Hilarion came upon proof that the man Giselle had been dancing with was not a simple woodcutter, by a man of blue blood. She at first refused to believe him, and to force her hand he blew a blast on a horn summoning the nearby hunting party that included the Prince of Courland and his daughter. They recognized Albrecht immediately, and when Giselle learned that Albrecht was to marry the prince's daughter she became completely despondent. Her dance evoked the happy memories of only days before, and when she reached the end, she grabbed Albrecht's sword from Hilarion and plunged it into her heart. Giselle's mother took the body of her daughter into her arms trying to will it to live, but the once happy girl was dead by her own hand.

The curtains fell, signaling the first act was over and there was some warm applause, which was rare before the interval. Erik was riveted to his seat, and made no move to leave his box to go to the lounge and quaff champagne with the moneyed masses. In scant twenty minutes Gia would be on stage, and he did not want to miss a moment.

The second act opened deep in the forest in a small clearing where a white cross glowed, indicating this was the place where Giselle had been buried. As a bell tolled midnight, the spirits of the Wilis, led by Gia as Myrta emerged from underneath the stage. The Wilis circled the grave, and Gia waved her wand at the grave, commanding the spirit of Giselle to join them in their dance. Meg emerged, looking astonishingly pale but beautiful garbed all in white. The Wilis danced, taking the lead from Myrta who with her regal bearing demanded attention.

From his position, Erik looked down on Gia and although he had seen her in costume before, she stole his breath. Her skin, although it had been whitened with powder shimmered from the footlights. The white ballet costume sparkled with every turn and gesture, and he found himself wondering how that crown on her head managed to stay on. He caught a flash from Gia's left hand when she raised her arm in a delicate arch over her head. She was wearing the engagement ring.

He was further mesmerized when the foolish Hilarion entered, hoping to visit the grave of Giselle. He was quickly swept up by the Wilis, but the spirit that carried him away was not Giselle, but Myrta. Without touching, Hilarion was whirled about by the ghostly queen. He tried in vain to follow her movements, but she was turning so rapidly he could not follow her. As Myrta, Gia was a beguiling presence, at once seductive, and yet marvelously aloof. She was executing each pirouette and fouetté with precision, and when she circled the hapless Hilarion with a series of chaînés turns, Erik nearly gasped. He had never been a dancer, but he was aware through Madame Giry how difficult it was to perform that many turns in rapid sequence. If a dancer lost focus for a moment, she would become dizzy and end up on her ass.

The audience was equally enthralled by the tall dancer, and when Hilarion collapsed, fatally exhausted, a battery of applause broke out. Gia looked down on the body of the man with disdain, and the turned away from him as though he had not even been worth the effort to kill. A few shouts of "Brava!" rang down from the balconies and Erik found himself joining them.

The chorus of shouts was becoming louder and lasting long enough that Reyer signaled for the orchestra to repeat the last page of music so the entrance of Albrecht would not be interrupted. Standing on the stage, Gia was stunned at the reaction. She could not still believe she had made it through the pas de deux without incident. She turned to the wings, and Madame Giry nodded that she should take a bow. Without breaking character, she made elegant curtsies to each side before resuming her place with the corps de ballet.

Once the applause died down, the ballet resumed with Albrecht and his retainer entering the scene. The retainer begged his master to leave this haunted place, but the duke would not leave, because standing amongst the spirits was his beloved Giselle. The Wilis moved to surround him, but Myrta held them off, extending her wand toward Giselle. She must be the one take this man's life for he was the own who misused her. Giselle did not want to harm this man, for she still loved him. She told him to cling to the cross of her grave and nothing could harm him. Myrta was unmoved by this scene, and she commanded Giselle to draw him away from the grave.

Meg looked at Gia with her pleading eyes, but Gia's cold stare told her she was bound to obey her. Reluctantly she began to dance, and Albrecht could not stop himself from following her, leaving the protection of the cross behind. The dance was growing out of control, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he could not sustain the pace she was setting, but he did not care. Giselle was here, and she was dancing again with him! The Wilis surrounded them, swaying in time to the music, urging the youngest Wili to take her revenge. Suddenly the clock struck four, and one by one the Wilis began to disappear. Dawn was coming, and they were creatures of the night.

The only people left on stage were Myrta, Giselle, and Albrecht. The man was desperately trying to grab Giselle's hand to prevent her from leaving him, but the unyielding queen beckoned her to join her sister spirits, displeased that the foolish girl had been able to save the duke by refusing her at first. But even she was touched by their devotion, and before slipping away, she gave them both an enigmatic smile. Meg then took her leave from him, and once again he reached for her hand, but she too melted away, leaving Albrecht all alone with only her grave for company. He reached down and plucked a white rose from the grave and studied it, his eyes misted with tears as the curtain drew closed.

The sound of clapping was deafening as the entire opera rose to its collective feet to cheer the magnificent production. The corps de ballet took its bow first, and then the minor players came forth one by one until all that was left was Hilarion, Myrta, Albrecht, and Giselle. Jean Chrétien, who had played Hilarion, was well-received by the crowd, and gloried in the attention, taking two additional bows.

Gia stepped forward, and a shower of roses fell upon her. Touched, she placed a hand over her heart, as she scanned the crowd, desperately hoping to find Erik's mask. It was nowhere to be found. Had he somehow forgotten her? This moment would not be possible without him. She took the additional bows, and then fell back, wanting to give Georges and Meg their turn, but even they were urging her forward, applauding her. She stepped forward a final time, gave one very long and deep reverence, before turning to her colleagues, extending her arm toward them.

Georges and Meg took their bows together and separately, with Meg getting her own long loud applause. The whole while she kept a huge grin on her face as the flowers flew onto the stage. She had grown up waiting for this moment, and now she truly had proven she was worthy of the title ballerina. The entire cast was brought back out for a group bow, and then the curtain came down for the last time.

In his box, Erik pounded his hands together furiously, not caring if anyone was staring at him. Eventually, the applause died and the audience began to leave slowly, some seeking their carriages, and others slipping backstage, hoping to congratulate the dancers or management on their fine work. When Erik looked to the next box, he found Christine and Raoul had already gone to see Meg and Madame Giry. He was not ready to leave yet. He sat back in his seat to gather the strength to face the crowd backstage without the protection of his mask.

He must not linger too long though. Gia was waiting for him.


	46. 46

**A/N: And so my readers, we have come to the end of Gia and Erik's journey together. I hope you all have enjoyed reading it as much as I have had writing it. I realize this final chapter is a BIT on the sappy side, but I am a sucker for a happy ending. This is intended to be the end of the line, although with some encouragement, I might be persuaded to write a short epilogue. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, and if you know people who have hesitated to begin reading stories because they are never finished, please tell them this one is!**

* * *

Gia was still not certain the evening had not been the product of a fevered dream. With Erik's ring on her finger, knowing a part of him was close, had allowed her to feel free from the moment she had taken the stage. Her mind was almost a perfect blank. She saw nothing but the people on stage, heard nothing but the haunting music, and somehow her body had known exactly what to do. There had been none of the terrible angst that she would fail, that somehow she would fall out of one of the many pirouettes in her solo and become embarrassed. It had only been the noise of the clapping hands at Hilarion's collapse that the reality of the moment had seized her.

She was on stage, performing in _Giselle_, and the audience of the Metropolitan, many of whom had seen many a production of this particular ballet, was applauding her.

Then during the curtain call, the cheers began again. Men and women threw flowers, and there in the orchestra pit Monsieur Reyer was grinning from ear to ear. She looked up toward the manager's box, and both Monsieur Dupoix and his wife were on their feet clapping, with Madame Dupoix brushing tears away from her eyes. Gia had scanned the crowd looking for Erik, but saw no sign of him. She did not want to think he had somehow missed this. She needed him to be here, to share this with him.

Once backstage, she was greeted with warm words and embraces from the cast and crew members. Meg dashed forward, her pale face flushed with happiness and arms full of roses, kissed her on each cheek, and insisted she take at least half the flowers off her hands because they rightfully belonged to her. Gia quickly found her arms filled with the fragrant blossoms, and Meg had none.

"Meg, whatever are you up to? You said I only had to take half!"

"These ARE half! Georges has the rest and he's bringing them to my dressing room," she said beaming. "Oh, before I forget, and in case I do not see him, thank Erik for me for his flowers. They are lovely. They came this afternoon. And Maman was quite taken aback he remembered her as well."

He had sent them flowers? Gia could not help feeling somewhat jealous of the two women.

She must have done something to betray her feelings because Meg laid a soft hand on her shoulder and said with conviction, "Gia, I'm sure he didn't forget you. He will be here. He doesn't miss a performance when the woman he cares about is on stage."

Feeling the need to get away from the crush of people, now that some of the audience had made there way backstage seeking to offer congratulations, Gia attempted to make her way to her dressing room. However, she found herself waylaid by well-wishers who insisted she speak with them. Being as polite as possible she thanked them all, but explained that she really should get out of the costume before it was damaged by someone accidentally sloshing some champagne on it, or singeing the skirt with a cigar. Thankfully the patrons seemed to understand, and she made for her dressing room as fast as her feet would carry her so she might have a bit of peace.

But even that was not possible, for when she arrived at her room, the two girls were waiting for her to help her undress. They squealed delightfully at the sight of the flowers, and one of them ran off to find some vases to put them all in. Before Gia could even begin the process of undressing, there was a sharp rap on the door, and when she opened it Madame Giry was standing there, clearly pleased.

"You did well. I am very pleased with you." It was the highest praise Gia could have hoped for. Antoinette Giry was more difficult to impress than even the most cynical of Parisian critics, and to hear such praise from her was a rare thing indeed.

As Gia and the ballet mistress stood in the doorway, the giggling girl returned with two vases, but she was not alone. Hot on her heels were a couple of stage hands bearing bouquets that they were told by young gentlemen to bring to Mademoiselle Burnside. Gia thanked them, and put the flowers on a table. Madame Giry then gave the young men and ladies a stern look, and they all scurried out of the dressing room leaving the two ladies alone.

"It would seem, Gia, your performance has caught the eye of some of the men in the audience," mused Giry.

"I am sure they simply thought that with all the men vying for Meg, they would have a better chance with the older, and reportedly spinster-like Mademoiselle Burnside. They probably see me as an easy conquest," replied Gia.

"You should not belittle yourself so, Gia. You danced with a fire tonight that I know from experience men find dreadfully attractive. Undoubtedly, they did not notice the ring you wear on your left hand." As she remarked on the ring, she reached for Gia's hand and brought it up so she might get a closer look at it. "Trust Erik to have as impeccable taste in jewelry as he does clothes."

Gia could not stop herself from asking, "Did you happen to see him in the flies? Or did anyone mention someone lurking up there? I looked for him in the audience during the curtain call, but I did not see anyone with a mask."

Madame Giry studied Gia's face. Her eyes were wide with worry, eager to hear that someone had spotted a masked man in a place where none should have been. She almost wished she could lie to the young woman and tell her she had seen him. "Unfortunately I did not see anyone this evening, and no one mentioned anything strange going on backstage. If anything, things went smoother than I had hoped. I fully expected Meg to be late for one of her entrances because of how little time she had to change costumes. I only wish I had better news to give you."

Another knock came at the door, and Gia sat in front of the vanity mirror, willing herself not to cry or betray her disappointment. She did not want to see anyone at the moment.

"Madame Giry, can you please tell whoever is there that I apologize for my atrocious manners, but that I am not receiving visitors this evening?"

The ballet mistress nodded in acknowledgement and went to the door, fully intending to tell whoever was there that Gia was indisposed and not ready to see anyone, but standing in the doorframe, hands behind his back was Erik in his formal evening wear. It took a moment to register, but when the realization dawned that he was not wearing his mask, Antoinette clamped her hand over mouth to prevent herself from making an audible gasp. Once she recovered, she curled her mouth into a grin and said, "Mademoiselle Burnside, there is someone here to see you who will not take no for an answer."

The hinges of the door squeaked as someone pushed the door open forcefully, and Gia turned to see who would be so rude and presumptuous as to intrude upon an unmarried woman in her dressing room. No doubt it would be some man who thought to make her his mistress. She fingered Erik's ring, and squared her jaw preparing herself for whoever would walk through the door.

He strode toward her confidently and then he produced a small bouquet of roses from behind his back. Her eyes shiny and wet with tears, she accepted the flowers, but immediately set them down on the vanity. Gia stood, her legs shaking at the wondrous sight of him unmasked. She took his face in her hands, and caressed his cheeks for a moment before she brought her lips to his.

Their lips and tongues engaged in a hungry dance full of longing; there were nibbles and teasing licks, and yet both their faces were stained with tears. When they disengaged themselves, Gia could not help at chuckling a bit. Running down the right side of his face was a streak of tan makeup, and she touched it tentatively with her right hand.

"You did not have to do this for me, Erik. You know I accept you as you are. You do not have to hide behind greasepaint. I do not care what anyone thinks of you."

His voice was soft and low in response. "It was time, Gia. It was time I left the mask behind." He brought his gloved hands to hers and entwined their fingers. "You make me want to be a part of the world. I want to stop hiding."

Gia choked back a happy sob. Her heart was so full and content, it seemed impossible that only weeks ago she had been without him. How had she lived without him? But she knew the answer to that question all to well. She hadn't. Her life had been a dull and colorless one. She had merely existed. Now she lived.

Remembering where they were, and that she had not even changed out of her costume, she brought her hands up to her face, "My God, I must look a fright! The makeup must be all smeared." Looking in the mirror, there were two long dark rivers of kohl on her cheeks, and the red stain around her lips had been smeared.

Ever the charming seducer, Erik said over her shoulder, "I think you look ravishing. Or at least, like a woman who is about to be ravished. Now, let me help you with that hair."

Madame Giry looked upon the scene with great amusement as she watched Erik help Gia take down her hair, first removing the pins that held the pearl crown, then moving on to pulling out the pearl beads that had been wound through her elaborate coiffure. Only once that was done, did he use his fingers to undo the carefully secured twist at the nape of her neck. When the curls tumbled down, finally free, he brushed them aside and placed a tender kiss on the back of her neck.

Had she been paying greater attention, she would not have missed Monsieur and Madame Dupoix walking through the now open door to find a strange man with his hands on Mademoiselle Burnside. The older man's startled voice came as a shock to the three of them.

"Now see here man, I will not allow you to take such liberties of Mlle. Burnside! I think of her as a daughter, and I will not allow some man to make her his temporary plaything and ruin her. What are your intentions?" the voice demanded.

Erik wheeled around, and said with utter seriousness, "I intend to make Mademoiselle Burnside my wife. She has already consented." As proof, he helped Gia out of the chair, and brought up her left hand so the man might see the ring.

"Gia, my girl, how can you propose to engage yourself to a man you have just met! You cannot know anything about him! He might already be married. You cannot be so naïve," he said, shaking his head at her. He would have thought the girl would show more sense. Damn her stupid mother for keeping her so sheltered! Now she had attached herself to the first gentleman who had come along.

She saw his confusion and disappointment, and she reassured the concerned couple with a smile. "I know this is rather difficult to believe, but Monsieur Erik and I have known each other for sometime. We simply wished to keep matters private. His family disapproves of his feelings toward me," she lied.

Erik was forced to hold back a derisive snort at that notion, but it seemed that at least Madame Dupoix believed Gia. The short, plump woman with graying hair admonished her husband, "Oh Michel, you are being silly. Don't you remember the fuss my parents made when you declared for me? They hated the idea of their daughter marrying someone involved with the theater. So foolish the prejudices people have."

She beamed at Erik and Gia and continued, "Allow my husband and I to congratulate you both. I had hoped to see Gianna settled with a good man, and any man willing to stand up to his disapproving parents is a good one in my book. Come now, Michel, we should leave them alone to celebrate."

Erik could have sworn the woman winked at him.

She was tugging on her husband's arm, but he remained unmoved. "Alright then, if your intentions are so honorable, monsieur, when is the wedding? My wife and I should be there for Gianna, as she has no family of her own." When Dupoix saw the panic in the man's eyes, he was sure he had him.

However, Gia quickly retorted, "We are to be married on Wednesday evening. As you can imagine, given Erik's situation, it is to be a private ceremony at St. Etienne's."

"Stuff and nonsense! I will see you given away properly. Your mother would have wanted it that way. And I insist you wait at least a month so we can make proper arrangements. It will take at least that long to get you a proper dress, and then there will be wedding supper to be arranged, and the flowers . . ." he replied, making a mental list. If Gia was determined to marry this strange looking man, he would at least see it was done with all the due ceremony.

"Thank you for the offer, Monsieur Dupoix, but I have made the necessary arrangements. Gia's dress will be ready on Monday. She needs to visit Madame Collette for a fitting that day, but otherwise everything is in place," he said calmly. The manager was still looking at him incredulously, but his wife was clearly enraptured by the turn of events.

"You see, Michel! This gentleman is no green boy! Allow the man to take care of his own wedding. I must say, I find this all dreadfully romantic," she said with a sigh. Seeing these two young lovers made her nostalgic for the early days of her marriage. "It must be like a fairy tale for you, my dear. First you triumph on stage, and now you are about to find yourself married to a handsome, obviously capable gentleman who you adore. Why anyone who looks at you would have to know you are in love! You are positively glowing!"

There Erik could not disagree with the older woman. To be sure, some of the glow could be attributed to the powder covering her arms and chest that had been used to give her a somewhat ghostly appearance, but Gia's face had an inner light, and when she was happy, it was barely contained. He took the hand of his bride to be and placed a long open-mouthed kiss on the back of it. "Monsieur and Madame Dupoix, I am well aware that Gianna is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I also apologize for carrying out my suit of her without your knowledge. I suppose I was so carried away with my feelings for her, that I laid aside conventional behavior. I do hope you both can forgive me."

Erik had quite skillfully maneuvered Monsieur Dupoix into something of a corner. If he did not give his blessing after Erik had so prettily apologized he would look rather churlish in front of his wife and Gia. He narrowed his eyes at Erik, knowing he had been had and returned, "I would be unthinkable for me to deny Gia something that would make her happy. I can see you make her happy, monsieur. Now, if you will excuse my wife and me, we will share these glad tidings with everyone else at the Metropolitan."

_Touché_, Erik thought. His once private, quiet wedding ceremony was about to become common knowledge. Displeased, he briefly considered strangling the man, but with at least two other witnesses, that would not be practicable. He watched the couple as they exited, and no sooner had they walked outside the door, he could hear Madame Dupoix telling someone of the recent turn of events.

"It would seem Erik, you may have to make some adjustment to your nuptial plans," said Madame Giry who was smirking at him. "Now if you will allow me to withdraw, I am going to check in on Meg, and make sure she is not making herself sick on cheap champagne and expensive chocolates."

Finally alone, Erik assisted Gia in undressing. Since they had made no plans for that evening, Gia was now wearing one of her old black dresses, looking much subdued from only a few minutes before but still lovely. Damn that Dupoix for spoiling his wedding plans!

"My love," he asked her earnestly, "Do you think we might elope?"

Her playful slap, told him all he needed to know.

* * *

As he had suspected and feared, the news that Gianna Burnside was about to be married spread like a wildfire throughout the Metropolitan, and it fast proved impracticable for Gia to tell people that it was meant to be a small wedding. Father Lessard graciously agreed to move the ceremony forward from the evening to the afternoon to accommodate the larger numbers, looking rather pleased when Erik informed him about it. He almost could have sworn the man had planned the whole thing, had he not known otherwise.

Now, Erik found himself standing in front of the altar of St. Etienne's with nearly the entire staff of the opera house in attendance. The crowd spilled onto the groom's side of the church since his side was noticeably empty, save for the first pew where Christine and Raoul sat. Christine looked inordinately pleased to see him safely married off, and her husband seemed mostly gleeful that he need never be concerned about losing his wife to the Phantom ever again.

Standing at his side was Antoinette Giry, wearing her best plum gown, since Erik flatly refused Christine's offer of Raoul to serve as best man. Antoinette had been his best and only friend for most of his life, and there was no one else he'd rather have stand up for him on his wedding day. He shifted nervously, waiting for the organ to strike up the processional, and Antoinette gently laid a hand on his arm to settle him. Before he could ask her about it for the fifth time, she produced Gia's ring from a small purse dangling from her wrist and he sighed with relief.

Anxiously looking back, he sought a glimpse of Gia, but she was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, music came pouring out of the gigantic pipe organ, and everyone turned to face the back of the church. Gliding along came Meg Giry who had been pressed into service as maid of honor, wearing the pale blue gown she had worn two years ago to Christine's wedding. It was a bit gauche to reuse a bridesmaid's dress, but given the surprise nature of the ceremony, and that no one here had been to the wedding of the de Chagnys, Gia assured Meg no one would notice. Once she reached the front of the church, she stepped to the left and looked back, which was the signal that Gia should be brought forth.

Upon seeing Meg reach the altar, Gia found herself clutching the arm of Monsieur Dupoix to steady herself. He tapped her white gloved hand twice, and then stepped forward guiding her down the aisle. The entire congregation rose when the veiled figure in white reached the final pew in the back and fixed their eyes upon her.

"Do I look alright?" she whispered to him as they began the slow march to the front, and he replied, "Gia, didn't anyone ever tell you that all brides are beautiful on their wedding day? And most brides do not have dresses designed by Madame Collette."

The dress was truly a fairy tale confection of white silk, lace, and delicate silver embroidery all along the edge of the skirt and train. Gia silently thanked goodness she had Monsieur Dupoix to rely on because she could barely see a thing through the mist of the veil that was over the front of her face. She had wanted to wear her hair up, since she could hardly be deemed virginal any longer, but Meg and Madame Giry had insisted on her wearing it loose since Erik preferred it that way. It was not until she was three quarters of the way up the aisle that she could even glimpse a tall figure in black tails, and a bright white waistcoat standing on the right side of the aisle with his hands twisting behind his back.

Dupoix felt Gia relax against his arm, and when he presented her hand to Erik formally, she gave him a grateful look, before her eyes locked onto his. Once the ceremony began, it became abundantly clear that there might as well have been no one else in the building, because Erik and Gia only were interested in each other and what the old priest had to say to them.

A ripple of surprise traveled through the assembled crowd as each party gave their names, and the groom's was revealed to be Erik Jean Giry. Was this man related in some way to the ballet mistress, Dupoix wondered? Come to think of it, no one had even mentioned the man's surname to him before this.

The bride broke out a wide grin when she heard the surname Erik had chosen for them. Madame Giry had done so much for them both it seemed the most natural thing in the world for them to take her name. There was only the recitation of vows and exchange of rings left, and then they would be married according to all the laws of God and man. As Erik slid the platinum band over the third finger on her left hand, Gia recalled the words of the inscription that he had shown her once he picked up the rings from the jeweler. It read simply: Semper vos es meus lux lucis quod verum. The translation from the Latin being: You are my light and truth always.

The sentiment had brought tears to her eyes then, and it did now. Her eyes were damp when she pushed the heavy band onto his finger, the token which signaled that they were bound to each other by more than mere words. That act completed, Father Lessard pronounced them man and wife, and instructed that the groom should kiss his bride.

This was the moment that Erik had been waiting for since the moment he had seen her coming down the aisle, her face shrouded by the lace of the veil. It had felt strange standing next to her being unable to see all of her features clearly, and it had struck him this was how she must have felt when he had worn his mask all the time. Although he still wore it from time to time when he ventured out in public, he was slowly becoming accustomed to leaving it behind entirely with the encouragement of Gia and the Girys. He gently pushed the nearly weightless fabric back to reveal the face of his beloved, who greeted him with one of her lovely smiles.

Custom dictated that the kiss be a gentle one on the lips to signal to the assemblage that the couple was united, but Erik could not resist slipping his tongue into her mouth, to which she responded with great ardor. It was only when the priest whispered, "That's enough my children!" that they recalled they were in public. As they disengaged themselves, Gia blushed becomingly, but Erik's eyes glowed green, as he was obviously quite pleased with himself.

Since Erik was barely what anyone could call Catholic, there was no formal Mass, and following the benediction, the wedding was over, and he took Gia by the arm leading her out of the church and onto the steps. Gia had informed him they would be expected to exchange greetings with their guests, something to which he had first objected to on the grounds that they were going to see many of them later that evening. The infernal Viscomte de Chagny and his wife had insisted on throwing them a wedding supper, something which only meant his wedding night would be delayed even longer. Gia had reminded him that a party meant they would likely receive gifts which might come in handy in setting up housekeeping.

He had grudgingly assented to the party, but he was already thinking up ways they might leave early so he might see Gia in the negligee he had made for the occasion. He was thinking a mild case of food poisoning would do just the trick. Somehow he'd find a way to make the boy pay for delaying the enjoyment of his full rights as a spouse.

Standing on the steps of the old gray church Erik looked into the eyes of his bride, at long last having found the peace he had never thought possible in this life. Needing no words, they clasped hands, knowing that there was nothing powerful enough to break the bonds that had been forged between them. They had walked through the unquenchable fire of loneliness and need separately, only to find the one waiting for the other. When they had emerged, it was as one eternal soul.

Some day, if he could find the words, he just might write an opera about it.


	47. Epilogue

**A/N: Due to interest, I have written this short epilogue as a peek into Gia and Erik's married life. Although I have no plans to expand on their life together, I thought many of you would enjoy this. I thank you all for the encouragement to continue writing, and thanks to you all, I am seriously considering trying my hand at original fiction. This has been a wonderful experience for me, and if you have enjoyed my little story, please do not hesitate to let me know. I am always eager to read your reviews and thoughts.**

* * *

Despite the very favorable notices in _L'Epoque_ and _Le Monde_ cheeringGianna Burnside in _Giselle_, Gia did not return to Metropolitan following her marriage to Erik. The opera house was sorry to see her go, and Monsieur Dupoix was even willing to promise her the designation of lead mezzo soprano to encourage her to stay, but Gia chose to decline the offer.

Two weeks after the wedding, Gia and Erik boarded a passenger train from Paris to Vienna, Austria. It did not take long for him to find moderate success through the publication of assorted concertos and sonatas. Erik was reticent at first to appear in public often, but the Viennese were enchanted by the talented composer and very little was made of his facial deformity. They were far more interested in his music.

Within two months of their arrival, Erik completed his new opera, _Benedick e Beatrice_, which was based upon William Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_. It was difficult at first to convince the opera manager and patrons to mount the production, particularly when they saw that the part of Beatrice was written for a mezzo rather than soprano voice. However, following an impromptu demonstration by the composer's charming young wife, an agreement was quickly reached. The production proved a huge financial success, and soon there was demand for it to be performed throughout Europe.

As a result, Gia and Erik spent a great deal of the first years of their marriage traveling around the musical capitals of the continent. It was only four years and two children into their marriage that they finally purchased a home in the French countryside, not far from the ancestral seat of the de Chagnys. Although the ladies always got on well, observers often noted that the two gentlemen only seemed to tolerate the other's presence for the sake of their wives and children.

It was perhaps inevitable that many years later Philippe de Chagny, heir to the title of viscomte, would fall in love with Cecelia Marie Giry, Gia and Erik's oldest daughter. Both fathers were initially opposed to the match, but when their wives made certain threats of an intimate nature, they relented rather quickly. Many declared there was never a handsomer couple than Philippe with his dark blonde hair and dark brown eyes and the green eyed, russet haired Cecelia.

When someone remarked casually that the marriage must certainly put to bed any of the old ghosts that clearly lay between the couple's fathers, Cecelia replied with her musical laugh, "You have no idea."


End file.
